We Do What Must Be Done
by Ladyamesindy
Summary: Everyone knows the story of Warden Cousland, but what of the parents? Follow the tale of how Bryce Cousland and Eleanor met and eventually ended up together as the parents of Warden and Fergus Cousland.
1. Prologue

_This is an idea that came to me a while back, and I finally got inspired to write it. For the moment, I'm using the generic Cousland family names: Bryce, Eleanor, Fergus and Elissa. It's **not** meant to tie in with any one particular story that I've already written._

_I've taken a lot of liberties in this story since so little information exists on the parentage of Bryce and Eleanor, siblings, etc.; their previous relationship with Nan; the location of The Battle of White River ... All I can say is thank goodness for vagueness! A writer's dream!!! LOL_

_I hope you enjoy my take on this. Please feel free to leave reviews or contact me with any questions, observations, or comments! I am always looking for ways to improve my writing!_

_As usual, Bioware owns the playground, and I just get to mess it up a bit ... well, perhaps a bit more than usual this time!!!! =D Enjoy, my friends!_

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Nan found Teyrna Eleanor Cousland in the study, seated in a chair near the hearth reading as was her wont of an afternoon. With a smirk of mischief on her face, Nan approached softly, quietly, until she was mere steps away. Eleanor's dark head rose only slightly from the book she was reading as she began the top of the next page. "Yes, Nan?" she asked, though the other woman was standing behind her.

Nan chuckled good naturedly. "Maker's Breath! I give!" she teased, walking around the chair. "Far be it from me to try and surprise you anymore!"

Eleanor laughed along with her friend. She sat straighter and asked, "Did you need something?"

Nan nodded. "The children are in the nursery asking for you. They want a 'story' about you and their father. About how you met."

Eleanor tried to hide a smirk, but she was able to tell from Nan's raised eyebrow that she had failed miserably. Sighing, she rose and straightened the skirt of her dress. "Right then. The nursery you say?"

Nan nodded. "Your son is in quite a mood today, I must warn you," she said as they walked in tandem in the direction of the family apartments in Highever Castle. "He's all about 'killing the Orlesians'."

Eleanor rolled her eyes. "As if we haven't had enough of that over the years!" she muttered beneath her breath. She heard Nan's chuckle again and added, "Oh, do shut up, will you?!"

Nan knew better than to take it to heart. They had been friends for a long time … a _lifetime_ and she suspected that it would remain so until one of them passed.

When they reached the nursery, Nan opened the door and gestured Eleanor inside where the two women found eight-year-old Fergus and three-year-old Elissa playing. A servant who had been watching the two quickly left the room, obviously pleased at being relieved of her watch duty. Eleanor smiled gently at the young woman… Sarah she thought her name was … and suspected that a bit of "hazard pay" might be in order for what she must have endured the past few minutes.

Turning her attention back to her children, she found Fergus chasing Elissa around the room, armed with a toy shield and sword, just like his father's. She smiled at the sight of the boy, who looked so much like his father. Walking into the room, she seated herself in the corner where cushions were laid out and a shelf of books was within arm's reach. "So," she commented, her voiced raised slightly to catch her rambunctious son's attention, "I hear someone is wanting a story?"

Fergus stopped suddenly and dropped his sword and shield to the floor where he stood, bounding over to his mother's side until he plopped down right next to her. Little Elissa finally followed when she realized her brother had decided to quit tormenting her.

"Now, then," Eleanor began, adjusting her position against the cushions and pulling her children close, "I hear you want a story about how your father and I met?"

Fergus nodded, his hair tumbling about his face. "I wanna hear how Papa killed Orlesians!" he added.

"Your mother killed Orlesians too, don't forget young man," Nan announced from her position near the doorway. "Did you not, my lady?"

Eleanor gave her friend a dark look, but said nothing.

Elissa turned her large blue eyes up to her mother and said, "Story!"

Eleanor smiled and began….


	2. White River

_As there is hardly any information on the Battle of White River, other than to say that Bryce Cousland fought in it during the Rebellion with Arl Leonas Bryland and Arl Rendon Howe, I have taken the liberty of declaring one of the unnamed rivers on the Ferelden map – the one that starts just south of Denerim and runs south through the Brecilian Forest, Gwaren and the Southron Hills as the White River. Should this ever change, then I will update the story. _

_All that said, I have also taken liberties in creating certain characters and individuals related to the more obvious ones, in order to give back story and have it all make sense. I apologize if any of this offends, but if I am to create an effective story, then I must have certain pieces of information available to use._

_As always, Bioware owns all and I just get to have some fun with it!_

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_8:99 Blessed_

The _White River. _ Beginning south of Denerim and running south, through the Brecilian Forest, through Gwaren and the Southron Hills until it finally branched out into multiple stems east of the Korcari Wilds, most of which ended up feeding into the Frozen Seas.

The day was overcast with dark grey clouds building in the north slowly rolling southward and looked as if they would blot out the entire sky. The mood of the rebel forces could be described as grim; most knew that if they had the same kind of "luck" that Maric had achieved at West Hill the chances of successfully defeating the chevaliers of Orlais would be almost impossible.

_It comes down to this. If we can win here, we have a chance to expel them forever …. If we don't then we will be slaves for eternity …._

Bryce Cousland shook his head in an effort to remove such thoughts, his auburn hair falling into his sea-blue eyes. He was the elder son of Malcolm Cousland, Teyrn of Highever. As he glanced around the battlefield, taking in everything: the troop placements, the conditions of the ground as well as the weather, he could feel the overall sense of … impending doom. He knew then that something was terribly, terribly wrong. He glanced down on the field of soldiers at his younger brother, Iain, looking for something …. Reassurance? Hope? _Something_ that would indicate that this battle would be _the_ one to change the face of Ferelden… or at least send the Orlesians home worrying ….

_I wish Maric were here_, he thought. Maric Theirin, Prince of Ferelden, son of the Rebel Queen …. Though, so soon after the defeat at West Hill, he doubted that even the prince's visibility to these men would provide much inspiration.

Bryce smiled slightly to himself. Both men were of an age, and Bryce had met him only once, several months before as Maric and his mother, Queen Moira the Rebel, had courted Malcolm Cousland to support the rebellion. While their parents had discussed, heatedly at times, the events that were occurring around them the younger men had talked of other things … most of it inconsequential, but Bryce had been able to make a decision after the meeting.

During their return trip to Highever Bryce told his father that, no matter Malcolm's position, Bryce would be supporting the prince and his mother. Malcolm had laughed, asking his reasoning and Bryce had told him the truth: They were the rightful heirs to the throne of Ferelden and the Orlesians the usurpers. It was only right that Bryce do his duty, as both a Ferelden and a Cousland in supporting the true royal family.

He continued to look around the field at the troops gathered below, and saw nothing that even remotely suggested the men were … inspired. Iain was leading the men their father had spared to fight in the rebellion, which in the grand scheme of things didn't account for much. That and it had to be kept … secret. They couldn't have King Meghren finding out that the Teyrn was openly supporting the rebellion against his occupation.

_If only we could openly fight!_ he thought. _If we could have brought more men from Highever, if I could be out there with them, even if father could have been here …._

Bryce felt his horse prancing nervously beneath his feet. His father had made him promise to stay in the back, with Arl Leonas Bryland and Arl Rendon Howe and the rear guard in order to keep him out of danger. After all, Malcolm had argued, Bryce was the future of the Teyrnir. Though his younger brother was a noble and intelligent and a capable leader, he was a second son and meant for battle. Bryce had been groomed to follow in his father's footsteps.

Despite all this, Bryce had seen to it that he was armed with his sword – the one given to him by his grandfather Fergus before the man's death two years earlier – and a shield of Highever. Additionally, he sported heavy chainmail armor. He knew that no matter the best of intentions, it was quite possible that he would have to fight his way out of the battle that was to take place below. If there was even the slightest chance of that, Bryce reasoned, then he needed to be armed.

Bryce hated the idea of remaining behind his men. He was a man of action, a man accustomed to leading troops by example, not sitting in the back and _waiting_ for the battle to happen around him. He felt like he was betraying their trust.

Bryce sighed heavily. He supposed his father was right; after all, the man was getting on in years, and given the erratic behavior of King Meghren, it was always possible that Bryce would have to take over the responsibilities of the Teyrnir sooner rather than later. He looked down again at his brother and found the younger man glancing up at him. Their eyes caught. The look the two men exchanged said it all, and Bryce felt his stomach turn. _Good-bye …._

His thoughts were interrupted by a hard clap on his shoulder as Rendon Howe, Arl of Amaranthine, sidled up beside him. "Bryce, my friend, we shall be telling stories of this day to our grandchildren as we bounce them on our knees!" he exclaimed, seemingly oblivious to what was going on around them.

Bryce muttered, "If we live through the day."

Howe chuckled. "I thought you were the optimist!"

Bryce bit his lower lip. He really wasn't in the mood for an in-depth battle of wits or wills today like they usually shared.

At that moment, another figure joined them. Bryce glanced to his left to find Arl Leonas Bryland, his father's longtime friend and Arl of South Reach move up next to him. "We are in position, your Grace," the Arl announced. Bryce nodded but sighed inwardly. This man was old enough to be his father, his grandfather even, yet he focused more on Bryce's noble status than on experience in battle. Bryce felt he should be the one honoring the older man with the title, not the other way around.

Suddenly a ripple of noise began spreading throughout the field below them, passing through the mass of troops at an amazing speed. Bryce searched for his brother, and found him. The men around him seemed to be acting nervously. _Nervous about what? Highever men are trained for any battle condition_. Bryce gasped softly when his brother's eyes caught his once more. He could see it, even at this distance: _we will not take the field this day_. Moments later, the battle was engaged….

… It was an unmitigated disaster, as Bryce had feared. He watched the men of the rebellion forces fall, saw his own troops take the brunt of the cavalry attack … and knew, without a doubt that he was now the only heir to Malcolm Cousland. Growling in frustration, Bryce forced himself to stay on his horse, to remain in the rear though it went against everything he had been taught about leadership. He felt as if he was betraying his men, _Betraying their memories more like,_ he added silently as he realized that he was the only man from Highever still breathing.

Hundreds of men were either dead or lay dying on the battlefield. Thousands. "My lord," Bryce hissed at Arl Bryland, "we must quit the field! We cannot afford to lose this battle to a man! We must keep some troops alive to fight with another day!"

The elder man shook his head negatively, reluctantly. Bryce glanced over at his friend. "Rendon!" he pleaded. Howe said nothing, simply shaking his head before turning to leave …. Moments later, Bryce saw him gathering a few of his men and quitting the field. _Coward!_ Bryce thought.

With a grunt of frustration, Bryce Cousland turned and did the only thing he could do … he led his horse at a gallop through the field, between the ranks, amongst the men and their enemy and shouted, "Retreat! Retreat!" He did not get by unscathed, he realized briefly as he felt a sword connect with his left side, and he was about halfway through the ranks, cutting through a copse of trees that ran along the bank of the White River and was about to turn around when he was hit and knocked from his horse. Or, more accurately he realized as he landed, his horse was hit and threw him, causing Bryce to land hard, knocking his head against a tree trunk in a blow that stunned him and made his head spin as he had not been wearing a helm.

Struggling, the young warrior managed to get to his feet and move further into the woods. He could hear the sounds of the Orlesian chevaliers as they continued to swarm onto the field … he looked out through hazy vision and saw a few stragglers turning to run. More often than not, they were cut down before they could make it ten yards. Groaning in pain, humiliation and utter defeat, Bryce Cousland collapsed into some of the thick underbrush, oblivious anymore to what went on around him.


	3. Lost and Found

_ Many, many thanks to all who have read and reviewed! Thanks to Wyolake, Miri1984 and Erynnar for adding me to their alerts/favs and for the reviews. Thanks also to mille libre for her reviews and encouragement! _

_ This story is rapidly becoming one of my favorites! I'm so glad you've decided to come along for the ride with me!_

_As usual … Bioware owns it all, let's me play with it and provides me with inspiration!_

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The field was quiet save for the sounds of men who were dying, of flies buzzing around those already passed. An eerie silence had settled about the battlefield, emphasized by a fog that slithered its way around the area giving glimpses of the carnage only to fold itself back around and change to views of grass, wildflowers and trees. The sounds of the White River running its course could be heard throughout it all in the background. Eleanor Muir and her companion stood at the top of the hill, staring down at the field below. _Why?_ she wondered. _Why do they do this? Why can't they simply get together, a representative on each side and either duel it out or play chess or …._ But she knew the answer, knew why these men had risked life and limb for a cause that was almost impossible to win. _Freedom …._

"My lady?"

Eleanor was startled out of her reveries. Laughing softly, ironically, she half turned towards her companion. "Sorry, Nan," she murmured.

Nan Campbell took a step closer. "Ellie," she murmured, taking advantage of their longstanding friendship, "we must go. The Orlesians will return and soon!"

Eleanor pursed her lips as Nan used the hated nickname, but it pulled her from her thoughts as it was intended to do. "We must go through the field, look for any survivors," she insisted. _We must find Edward's body!_ She knew it was too late for her brother. Edward had died early on in the battle. She had known it. Eleanor had come specifically to look for him, but as of yet had not found him. She turned to her friend. "Let's mount up. We can move more quickly through the field on horseback."

Nan nodded. "Right."

Both women were dressed in leather armor, armed with daggers and bows. They quickly mounted their respective horses and started down to the field below. Slowly, carefully they picked their way through the mass of bodies, most of who belonged to the rebel forces.

It was Nan who located the body of Eleanor's twin brother, to the far left of the battlefield, near the river. He had apparently not died immediately as there was evidence of him crawling away from the field, a trail of blood in his wake. He was leaning against a tree, looking almost as if he was asleep, but Eleanor knew better. She dismounted her horse and approached quietly, respectfully. Kneeling beside her twin, she reached out and lifted the visor of his helm so that she could see his face…. Taking a deep breath, Eleanor rose to her feet, turning towards Nan. "Do you think we could lift him onto your horse?" she asked.

Nan nodded. "I think so. You get his right side, I'll get the left. Griffon should stand still if I ask him."

Eleanor couldn't help a slight laugh at the name of Nan's horse, though it sounded slightly hysterical. "I still can't believe you named the animal 'Griffon'!" she muttered, reaching beneath her brother's arm.

Nan grinned at her friend. "And why not? He's grey, isn't he? What else would you name a grey horse but after a Grey Warden's griffon?" As she had intended when mentioning the animal's name, the banter between the two women seemed to be easing Eleanor through her most painful moments after the discovery of her brother's body. She would have time for grieving later. They were now by the animal's side. "Stand, Griffon," Nan ordered the animal.

It was a bit of a struggle, but thankfully, it was only a couple of moments before Edward was lying across the hind end of the animal, belly down. Nan carefully mounted the animal. "My lady, I think –"

Both women heard a groan coming from the nearby underbrush. The sound startled Griffon, and it was all Nan could do to keep the animal under control. She saw Eleanor gesture up to her to remain silent as she reached for her daggers. She was by far a bowman, her training there unsurpassed. However, for close combat, she preferred daggers over swords, using her quickness in place of longer blades. And, though she was not the best at this method, it served her purposes well enough.

Cautiously, silently, Eleanor approached the source of the noise. At first she saw nothing but trees and bushes. But, as she stepped further into the wooded area, she tripped over … something, and glanced down. Lying at her feet was a sword, partially covered by leaves and thoroughly drenched in blood. Taking an offensive posture, Eleanor approached….

…. And was startled to find the body … the _living_ body of a man, his booted foot sticking out from under some of the bushes. She prodded him, gently at first, aware of her surroundings and still armed. When she received no response, she prodded him again, this time using the tip of her dagger, in the leg. In a whirlwind of movement, Eleanor suddenly found herself lying on her back on the forest floor, the body of a man holding her down, leaning over her. His face was bloodied by a wound to … she frowned, unable to locate the source of the blood, but it was a head wound of that she had no doubt. She also noticed that his heavy chainmail had blood on it, near his belly area, and she suspected that there was a wound in that location as well.

"Who-who are you?" the man gasped, pain obvious in his voice.

"Release me and I will tell you," she told him simply. She knew she could overpower him. She had no concerns on that account, yet she was not sure that she would be able to defend herself from him in combat position even given his injuries. She took note of his frame – he was much taller than her brother had been, and it seemed much stronger. His reddish-brown hair was falling forward into his eyes … eyes that reminded Eleanor of the Waking Sea ….

"I-" he began, but then lost his battle with consciousness and collapsed … on top of Eleanor.

Eleanor felt his weight hit her, felt him almost crush her, but she managed to squirm out from beneath him. Once she had accomplished this, she rose to her feet, struggling to catch her breath. She was about to turn the man over when she heard Nan call out, "My lady, please! I can hear the Orlesians approaching!"

Eleanor knew that Nan's hearing was excellent and that she only had a matter of moments. Using her foot, she kicked the man in his side. She heard him groan. Grunting in frustration, she bent down and rolled him over. Then, she slapped him across the cheek. "Wake up!" she hissed, slapping him the other way. When his eyes opened, she hissed, "The Orlesians are coming. I assume you were with the rebels?" She saw him nod. "Can you stand? I can get you to safety, but you have to trust me and you have to move … now!"

Eleanor watched as he struggled to move. Between the two of them, he was on his feet within moments. Slowly, she led him to the edge of the woods and leaned him against a tree. Nan was there, still mounted, but holding on to the reigns of Titan, Eleanor's mount. "Titan, stay!" she ordered. She turned towards the soldier and asked him, "Can you mount on your own?"

He nodded and stumbled forward. It took three attempts, and in the end a huge shove by Eleanor, but he finally mounted himself behind the saddle. A second later, Eleanor was in front of him. Pulling up her reins, she turned Titan towards the north.

"They are on the other side of the hill!" Nan hissed, edging Griffon around Titan and heading towards the river. "El! We need to move … NOW!"

Eleanor nodded and began directing Titan after her friend's path. She felt the stranger's arms slide around her waist in an effort to hold on. A moment later, she felt his head drop to her shoulder and she wondered if he had passed out again. "Maker, give me strength, give me fortitude … give me guidance!" she prayed softly as she urged Titan into a gallop.


	4. Recovery

_Sorry about the delay! Real life snuck in over the weekend (ie: I got to be taken to the drive-in to see Ironman 2 with Clash of the Titans for Mother's Day!) and I got a little, ahem, behind! =D I will try to be more prompt in future!_

_Thanks to all who have read, favorited, set alerts, and reviewed! You all are wonderful and completely amaze me! I am glad to have you along for the ride! Thanks to Erynnar for being a beta for me! Your input is valuable beyond words! (and if you have not checked out **Soulmates** or **The First Cut Is Always The Deepest**, I highly recommend them!)_

_As usual, Bioware is the king of the playground ... I just get to play!_

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Bryce felt himself falling … falling … and landing against something … soft? He struggled to open his eyes, but found he had not the strength to even do that. It appeared to him that what little stamina he still had was being spent simply on breathing….

Eleanor and Nan managed to get the man into the house through the kitchen entrance. Quickly, before any of the kitchen staff came back and became aware, they tripped the door to the secret passageway Eleanor's great-grandfather had insisted upon, and stumbled inside. It was dark, but she knew the way. Approximately 20 steps down and then 100 paces forward there was a T-crossing. At the crossing, Eleanor turned left. Another fifty paces and she turned right. With a bit more of a struggle, she and Nan managed to lift the dead weight onto the cot that lay there.

Moments later, as Eleanor began feeling for the buckles on the man's armor, a soft light appeared. Turning to her friend, she noticed Nan moving forward, two candles lit. One she handed to Eleanor, the other she kept for herself. "Stay," Nan said, turning towards the door. "I will go and stable the horses … and find out what your father would have done with … Edward."

Eleanor nodded, still struggling with the buckles. "When you come back, will you bring towels, hot water, poultices, elfroot and some bandages?" she asked.

Nan nodded. "I'll also bring you some food. You need to eat. And clean clothing." She gestured to the bloodstained shirt Eleanor currently sported.

Eleanor said nothing as she watched her friend move out of the room at a rapid pace. Seconds later, she turned back to her patient. While she worked, she wondered about this man, his part in the battle, … and if he was responsible for her brother's death.

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Bryce felt as if he was floating … like pieces of driftwood in the Waking Sea that would sometimes wash up on the shore beneath the cliffs that Castle Cousland was built upon. Floating aimlessly, drifting along on a cloud, or the sea or … well, he couldn't really tell. It wasn't really important anyway ….

Eleanor was still struggling to remove the man's armor so that she could begin binding his wounds. Finally, she'd managed to remove the heavy chainmail, thanking the Maker silently that he wasn't in plate mail. She used her dagger to slice his padded shirt as well as the linen one beneath that before yanking them off as well. At long last, she was able to locate the wound on his left side, a deep slice, no doubt from a sword of some sort, but nothing that a couple of health poultices and some rest couldn't cure.

Eleanor reached for the elfroot and a healing potion. Nan had quietly returned before the armor had been removed with the items Eleanor had requested, plus food and clothing for Eleanor herself. Taking the elfroot now, Eleanor placed a leaf in her mouth and began chewing it, breaking the skin of the leaf and allowing the healing properties to be released. After a moment, once she could feel the essence of the leaf against her tongue, she retrieved the leaf from her mouth and did the same with a second, and a third. Finally, she took all three leaves and placed them around the wound, into the wound, and used a bandage to wrap it into place.

Once this was completed, she moved to the man's head. In the forest she had seen blood matted in his auburn hair and she suspected that she had either been hit by or hit it himself against something. He had his head tilted to the right as he lay on the cot, and Eleanor was able to see the scrape beneath the thickness of his hair. She first took some of the remaining elfroot leaves and processed them as she had the others. This time, however, she placed them into the bowl of water she had poured from the pitcher Nan had brought. Once the leaves had soaked a few minutes, she took one of the clean cloths and soaked it in the water for a moment, allowing the elfroot to soak in as well. Then, as carefully and gently as she could, Eleanor spent the next half hour cleaning the wound on the back of the man's head until she was satisfied that the wound was cleaned out.

Eleanor began rising to her feet, slowly as her legs had stiffened while she knelt beside the cot. Finally, after what seemed like ages, she was upright. She walked over to the table where the remaining items Nan had brought, including some bread and cheese which Eleanor gratefully downed in an effort to soothe her growling stomach. She investigated the clothing and smiled at the everyday work wear that her friend had delivered. Eleanor was known to be a bit of a renegade when it came to making fashion statements. She preferred everyday common clothing to fancy, embellished accoutrement. She had no patience for the frivolous fripperies that other noblewomen tended to sport and call the latest styles.

Smiling to herself, Eleanor took another of the cloths and began washing her body, removing the old, bloodied shirt and pants and then donning the skirt, blouse and corset. The clothing was muted in color, but she enjoyed the jeweled blues and burgundies that made up the outfit. She was just tying off the lacing on the front of her corset when she heard her patient groan behind her.

Bryce could feel the pain in his side, the back of his head. He felt as if someone had used his body as a practice dummy during training out on his father's practice fields…. _If I can feel pain,_ he thought, _then I am alive …._ Finally, after a long struggle, his eyes opened … and he found the face of an angel leaning over him. "Andraste's mercy!" he breathed, struggling to bring his vision into focus …. "Andraste herself!"

Eleanor giggled softly. "Not quite," she replied, reaching for a cup and pouring some water in it for him to drink. She shifted her position until she was at his side, her arm supporting his shoulders so he could sit up a bit and drink without the water running down his chin and chest.

Bryce felt the cool liquid pass his lips as he greedily sucked it in. He could tell he had been out for quite a while based simply in his body's reactions. When he pulled back after three cupfuls, he closed his eyes, suddenly weary. _How badly was I injured?_ he wondered. He allowed his lovely vision to lay him back against the pillows. With a heavy sigh, he asked in a voice rough with sleep and pain, "How – how long?"

Eleanor pulled a blanket over him before moving to dish up some broth that Nan had brought with her last delivery. This she brought with her and set aside on a shorter table next to the bed. "Not long," she assured him. "Two days."

Bryce's eyes shot open at that. "Two days?!" he gasped. He bit back a groan as he felt a wave of pain wash through his head, reminding him of the injury he'd received.

Eleanor reached out to wipe his face with a cool cloth. She could feel him tense at the touch before relaxing once more. "Two days ago," she murmured softly, acutely aware that what she was about to tell him would most likely cause him grief, "Orlesian chevaliers defeated the rebel forces at White River. Of over eight hundred men in support of the rebellion, only about fifty made it out with their lives …."

Bryce could feel the darkness creeping upon him once more, but he refused to give in to it. "How … do you … know?"

Eleanor sat back from him. "I came to White River after the battle ended," she told him in a voice barely audible. "I was looking for my twin brother, Edward, who was fighting with Arl Bryland's forces." She took a deep breath before continuing. "I was here, at our family's estate, when Edward was killed, but I knew the moment he passed. Against my father's wishes, I left with Nan to go in search of my brother. We found his body right before we found you."

Though the light was dim, Bryce saw the pain etched in the woman's features. It suddenly occurred to him then: they were of a kind as each had lost a brother in the battle. "I-I'm … so sorry," he told her sincerely.

They were silent for a time until Eleanor leaned forward to lift him once more. She propped the pillows behind him, aided him in repositioning his ill-used frame into a more comfortable and seated position, then assisted him with the broth. Though they sat in silence, it was one that was companionable. Occasional glances at each other, brushes of fingers, and gentle smiles were exchanged. When Bryce finished the first bowl, Eleanor asked, "Would you like more?"

Bryce carefully shook his head. "Not … just yet," he begged. Though he felt a bit stronger, he knew he had to take things slowly. "Tell me," he said suddenly, "what is your name?"

Eleanor blushed, setting aside the bowl. "I'm so sorry!" she told him. Using a hand to brush loose strands of her hair back out of her face, she replied, "I am Eleanor Muir, daughter of Bann Galen Muir and Analynne Mac Tir."

Bryce thought for a moment he'd stopped breathing. He suddenly knew they had much more in common than the mere fact that their brothers had been killed at the same battle. "I'm a fool for not realizing it sooner!" he breathed. Looking up into her emerald gaze, he told her, "I'm Bryce Cousland, Iain's brother."

Eleanor's entire body froze. "Iain …," she whispered, her eyes locking on his. It was then that she saw that his eyes were the same shades of the sea that had so entranced her with Iain. "Iain is dead?"

Bryce nodded sadly. "I am so very sorry," he whispered as she rose from the chair, turned and fled the room leaving him alone in his pain and misery.


	5. The Hunt

_Many, many thanks to all who have read, reviewed and favorited/alerted to this story! You humble me! _

_Also, a great many thanks to Erynnar, my beta, for helping me and guiding me ... and telling me it's okay to move it on to another chapter! =D Thanks for the help and support, Sweetie! If you haven't tried **Soulmates, The First Cut Is Always Deepest **or **Whispering Sighs of the Blade,** I highly recommend them!_

_This story is beginning to take on a much longer, more thorough life of its own than I had originally intended, so fasten your seatbelts and enjoy the ride!_

_Just for the record, Bioware is the king! I'm must a minion messing with things!_

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The sound of Eleanor's heavy breathing was an indication of her level of exhaustion. She had worked tirelessly over the previous few days to bring the man laying on the bed beside her back to health. While doing so, she had taken to sleeping in the chair that she kept by his bed, giving her a place to sit while bandaging him or simply speaking to him.

It was while she sat there that Eleanor was awoken suddenly from a sound sleep when a strong hand grasped her shoulder, gripping tightly for just the briefest of moments to catch her attention before it released her. Instinctively, Eleanor grasped the small dagger she always carried in her boot, spinning around to her right out of her chair while bringing both the dagger and her arm up to reach around her assailant's throat.

"M'lady," Nan gasped, allowing her body to relax completely so that she wouldn't be injured, "Orlesian chevaliers are headed this way. You must escape!"

Eleanor released her friend the moment recognition set in. "How long?" she asked her voice still rough and raspy from her sleep.

Nan shrugged. "Daniel rode in not five minutes ago saying they were about a half hour away. Given that they are Orlesians and not to be trusted … I'd guess half that time in order to get away safely."

Eleanor nodded as she began throwing odds and ends into a nearby canvas backpack. "Saddle Titan for me, please. And one of my father's horses as well. We'll leave in ten minutes. Meet us at the back gate."

Nan nodded and hurried out of the room.

Eleanor leaned over her patient. "Bryce," she whispered harshly, urgently. She gave his shoulder a shove. "_Bryce!_"

He sat up immediately, dazed and in pain, but aware of his surroundings. It was clear that he was a well trained warrior as he had automatically reached for a weapon beneath his pillow first only to have his hand come away empty. "What is it?" he rasped.

Eleanor handed him his trousers, a linen shirt, a dark traveling cloak and his boots. "We have to leave … now! Chevaliers will be here momentarily," she explained in a rush. "Nan is getting our mounts. We need to hurry and meet her out back."

Bryce bit back a groan as he began dressing himself. His wounds had not yet completely healed and they pained him, but he managed to dress and, with some assistance from Eleanor, get his boots on and buckled. "Ready," he finally told her.

"Stay near me," she murmured, placing his hand on her shoulder, "and no matter what happens, remain quiet and do as I say." She blew out the candle then, waited for his hand to tighten on her shoulder, and began leading the way outside.

When they arrived in the yard, Eleanor spotted Nan with the horses. She threw her bags upon Titan and mounted in one quick, smooth motion, noting as she did so that there was yet another bag there: knowing Nan, it was food. She turned to watch Bryce, to make sure he was able to mount his steed, and realized …. "Nan! I told you one of my father's horses!" she hissed angrily.

Nan smiled, holding the bridle as Bryce mounted Griffon. Her one true pleasure in life, she had often told Eleanor, was being able to have the last word. "He's the only beast who can keep up with yours and you know it!" Nan hissed back. Her head suddenly shot towards the front of the estate. "Go the back way now… they are here!" She handed the reins to Bryce and swatted the animal's hindquarters with her hand, watching as he took off after Titan. Sending a silent prayer to the Maker for their safety, Nan turned to enter the home.

* * *

Eleanor led Bryce through the heavily forested area behind Bann Muir's estate. They traveled slowly, carefully before exiting the wooded area a few hours before dawn. She glanced over at Bryce. "Can you ride?" she asked, knowing he was in pain by the lines at his mouth, his eyes. "Hard? We will need to make quite a distance before making camp this night."

Bryce nodded. There was no choice in this situation. What else could he say? "What is our destination?" he asked before they started off.

"Ultimately, Highever. It will be a long journey, though, and we may be forced to detour quite a bit, but unless we hear differently along the way we must assume your father is safe and well. If we find out otherwise, we can change our plans then."

Bryce nodded. It sounded a logical enough plan to him, and he knew that he was in no state to argue with her at any rate. "Let's go," he agreed. "We can make the rest of this up as we go along."

* * *

And ride hard they did, when they could. As horses were such a rare commodity in Ferelden, even amongst the Orlesian occupiers, Eleanor did not feel they should risk being seen. Surely the Orlesians after them would be able to figure out they had fled with assistance from animals, and people would be questioned. Even an innocent observation of, "I remember seeing someone on horseback headed west," could give them away. So they stayed to the trees when possible, and headed south.

Eleanor tried to recall everything she and Edward had known about the Southron Hills. Together, their knowledge had been encyclopedic: a collection of information from a wide variety of sources that could challenge anyone. Though their knowledge was made up with but pieces of information, it had been Edward who provided the more … vital bits, and Eleanor who would put the puzzle together to form a complete picture. Now, however, Eleanor was on her own.

It was well after dark when Eleanor finally decided that they had traveled a safe enough distance from her home to avoid detection by the chevaliers. She knew all too well that it was now a home to which she might never be able to return. Sighing softly at her loss, she dismounted Titan and removed his saddle.

Bryce followed her example, though at a much slower pace. To be honest, he was rather … disgusted with himself, or at least with his body's reaction to his injuries. _But then,_ he thought, _you've never been injured this severely, or in battle for that matter, before._

Eleanor was returning to their camp, a rather small and enclosed area, with some pieces of firewood, enough for a small blaze, when she found Bryce struggling with Griffon's saddle. She watched as he began to lift the saddle off of the beast … and then cried out softly in alarm when she saw the seeping, spreading stain of blood on his shirt. "Bryce, stop!" she cried, dumping her firewood with a crash and hurrying to his side. She brushed her hands off on her trousers before moving them beneath his shirt to check his bandages. She both heard and felt his sharp gasp as her hands touched the injured flesh near his ribcage, and she had to wonder if it was due to pain or the chill of her hands … or a combination of the two.

Eleanor frowned, sliding one hand up his back to his shoulders to test his body temperature. In the past, she had found this to be a much more accurate method of evaluating whether someone was feverish or not.* The instant her fingers reached the muscles of his shoulders, her gaze shot up and noticed the glazed look settling over his blue eyes. Eleanor cursed silently at the fever that was grabbing hold of him. She used the hand on his back to give him support while yanking his bedroll from the saddle and tossing it to the ground where, thanks to her manhandling, it unrolled itself. Reaching her other hand for him, she ushered him to the blankets. "Lie down," she murmured while assisting him.

_This is all my fault!_ she thought. _I rode too hard! We should have stopped hours ago then he wouldn't have –_

"Ellie?"

Eleanor froze as he gasped her nickname, _the _nickname that only Iain had ever used for her. Glancing down, she could see though he was feverish, there was clarity in Bryce's eyes. He would remember this later. "Lie still and remain quiet," she told him softly, hoping that he would do as she asked. The last thing she needed right now was to be haunted by memories of her dead fiancé.

Bryce groaned as she manipulated the clothing and bandages near the infected area. He'd known late that afternoon that an infection was setting in. His cloak had done much to warm him that day, but it was not enough to explain away the chills and chattering that he'd experienced in the hours just before they had stopped to make camp. And now ….

Eleanor rose to her feet to grab her bedroll, covering Bryce with the extra warmth to help ward off his chills. She glanced down once, before turning away from him, to notice that he was either unconscious or asleep. As it produced the silence she had requested, she didn't care at this point what its cause was. She had him settled as comfortably as she could make him, that was the main thing. Now, she turned to set up the campfire. The blaze took some time, but it finally caught. It was then that Eleanor realized, and for the second time that day, that she had let her guard down just enough to get caught unawares … or almost.

The shuffling was soft, barely discernable amongst the sounds of the night and the fire, but Eleanor heard it … _Behind_, she thought. Crouched as she was near the fire, she could reach for the dagger in her boot and not be seen. Now that she knew there was something ... _someone_ there, she could sense its presence as it moved forward towards her. Setting her complete focus on her assailant, Eleanor slowed her breathing, calming herself, and measured the distance …

"You have no need for weapons against me, girl," the intruder announced. "Now, put that thing away before we all end up injured!"

Eleanor spun around, still crouched and with the dagger in hand … and found herself frozen to the spot ….

* * *

*** A/N:** I'm not sure if this is a medically sound way of detecting fever, but it is the only way I have ever been able tell with my son if he has a fever. I figure if it works for him, it would work for an adult as well.


	6. Healer

_Thanks to all who read, review, favorite and set alerts! I cannot begin to tell you how much I appreciate it!_

_Thanks also to Erynnar for being my beta, my friend and ... occasional (like ALL THE TIME) inspiration! Thanks for guiding me in this and the next chapter!_

_Bioware is the king, I'm just monkeying with it a bit!_

_

* * *

_

"Wh-who are you?" Eleanor demanded, though the severity was lost as her teeth chattered together from the residual chill of the freezing spell the woman had used. Though the ice had now melted, Eleanor could feel the bone chilling cold from her head to her toes.

"Names are pretty, but useless for any purpose other than personal vanity. I am a healer. If you must call me something, call me that which I am," she explained easily.

Eleanor glanced around the clearing. The woman had arrived alone from out of the blue it seemed. Eleanor could hear no other people, no horses or clanking armor that she might expect from the patrol of Orlesian chevaliers after them. Quite to the contrary, the only other sounds aside from the two women's voices were the normal meanderings of forest life preparing for the evening.

"I am very … appreciative of your timely arrival," Eleanor continued after a moment. "My friend," she gestured to Bryce, "has taken ill. I have been trying for days to heal him, but …"

The aged woman cackled, sending a chill up Eleanor's spine. "I know of your efforts, dear girl," she told Eleanor as she moved to kneel beside Bryce, "just as I know who you and your friend are."

Eleanor gasped. "What? But … how? You can't possibly …."

With a hard look almost magnetizing, Healer turned to Eleanor and said, "Eleanor, twin to Edward, the only children of Bann Galen Muir and his loving wife Annalynne MacTir who died giving the children life." Turning back to Bryce, she continued in a voice that was eerily monotonic and hypnotic, "Your friend is Bryce Cousland, eldest son of Teyrn Malcolm Cousland and appointed heir. He is also a descendent of Sarim Cousland just as he is also elder brother to your pledged, Iain Cousland who was killed alongside his men at the Battle of White River."

Eleanor was stunned and could feel the blood draining from her face. _How …._

Healer chuckled, gesturing Eleanor over towards a stump. "Sit girl, before you fall over! I need only one patient, not two!" She directed her attention towards Bryce and his injuries. While she continued her discussion with Eleanor, she pulled herbs and other items from pouches secured at her waist. "Now then," she said, amusement clear in her voice, "you are wondering how I could possibly know these things? How I could know so much about you when we have never met before today?"

Eleanor could only nod her head in affirmation.

"I do have ears," she teased. "I hear things from … travelers, from traders." When that did not seem to elicit the response the healer was looking for, she said, "You and your brother were not the only ones in all of Thedas who can correctly piece together parts of puzzles, child! I listen with my ears. I see with my eyes. I process the information I have gathered and discover that one and one become two just as easily as you do!"

The implication of an overabundance of pride on her and Edward's part caused Eleanor to blush. "I- I did not mean -"

Healer brushed away the comment as if it were a fly buzzing about her face. "Bah! Let it be. I do not need apologies. They are a waste of time and of energy, and truly make neither party feel better in the end of things." Turning her attention fully now on Eleanor, she asked, "You and your man are on the run, yes?"

Eleanor blinked. "He is not _my man_ as you so eloquently stated," she responded quickly and without thought. She actually shuddered at the idea. She knew nothing about this man, save his blood relationship to Iain. Maker's breath, how could the woman possibly think ….

Healer chuckled again. "Your destinies are intertwined so much more than you will ever know," she replied quietly. "But, enough of that. You did not answer my original question, though I know already by your gear, your horses, and the desperation by which you were trying to heal him." Gesturing Eleanor over to her side, Healer told her, "His fever is not strong, he should overcome it by morning. There is infection, but it is mild. Give him this," she lifted Eleanor's hand and placed some leaves into it, "in an infusion of tea in the morning and he shall be healed by day's end."

And then, doing something completely unexpected, Healer reached out with her other hand, she placed it up on Eleanor's forehead, lightly touching, tracing shapes and patterns. With a smile, she leaned forward and murmured, "Sadly it will not last, yet you both shall find joy together beyond your fondest hopes, young Eleanor, despite your fears. Enjoy it while you can, and take heart at what will come for your children together shall take the next step beyond. And always remember that there are men whose hearts hold shadows darker than any evil or tainted creature."

Eleanor was so shocked by Healer's soft touch upon her skin, by her tone and words that that washed over her, she did not even notice the woman rise to her feet and leave the clearing.

Eleanor sat very still for a very long time after Healer's departure. She knew that the woman had been there and that she had assisted with the care of Bryce. Eleanor glanced at the leaves in her hand and knew they were for a tea she was to administer to Bryce in the morning before they left on their journey. But beyond that, the memories of the woman were, at best, hazy. Shaking her head, she found a pouch in which to put the leaves for safe keeping. Then, deciding that she was too weary to ponder things any longer, she turned towards her bedroll ….

… and realized that her blankets were covering the man she had saved. Reaching out, Eleanor placed a hand at his shoulder, at his forehead and then, lightly, at his injured side. Yes, there was still an incredible warmth there, but it was not like the fire she had felt earlier. Taking one of her blankets back from him, she wrapped it around her tired body and lay down near him. She was cold, chilled even and found it difficult to get comfortable.

It was much later when Eleanor found a somewhat comfortable position, and she had just about fallen asleep when she felt Bryce start thrashing about next to her. She tried lying still, to see if he would calm on his own, but that did not work. Sighing in frustration and sheer exhaustion, Eleanor sat up, leaning over him. She felt for signs of the fever, but found nothing too extreme. Touching his forehead, she did find a sheen of sweat, and this she wiped away with the edge of her blanket. "Bryce," she whispered near his ear, "everything is all right. You are safe."

But still he kept thrashing, shifting, and eventually kicked off his blanket. This, Eleanor grabbed since he was not completely dressed and would inevitably need the protection from the cold at some point. Placing the material back over him, she grabbed his left hand which appeared to be reaching out for something … _or someone_, she realized. "Bryce!" she called just a bit louder than before.

"No … Iain!" Bryce's hoarse whisper cried. "No!"

With a gasp of pure terror, Eleanor bolted upright. He was dreaming of the battle, of losing his brother! "Bryce!" she called again, this time shaking his shoulder.

But still he remained in the dream. His mumblings became more indistinct, more garbled, but occasionally she would hear her intended's name called. "Oh, Bryce!" she whispered softly, allowing her grief for what they both had lost in the person of Iain Cousland to surface. She sobbed, alone but for a feverish shell of a man lying beside her, and with her tears allowed her heart to start the healing process.

It was a long while later when Eleanor's tears finally abated. She also noted that Bryce's movements and moanings had calmed as well. No longer capable of coherent thought, she lay back down and curled up beside him, seeing his warmth and companionship, however fleeting and, at least at present, unconscious they might be.


	7. Promises

_Glad to have all of you along for this ride! I'm having so much fun writing this story, and the feedback has been great! Thanks for the reads, reviews, favs and alerts! _

_Thanks as always to Erynnar, my fabulous beta, for keeping me honest and on track! You are the best!_

_And, as always, Bioware owns it all … I just get to mess around with it._

_

* * *

_

In the morning as he awoke, Bryce noticed that it was still dark, though the birds were beginning their morning calls. As he lay there listening to the noises of the woods around them, he tried to remember what had happened the day before. The last thing he recalled was falling as he got off his horse ….

Shifting his position, Bryce found himself face to face with his rescuer, though she still slept. She was curled up against him, unconsciously sharing his body heat. She also had her arm thrown around his waist and with a smile to himself, he had to wonder if that was instinctual rather than intentional. He stared down at her, was sorely tempted to brush loose tendrils of her hair away from her face. His thoughts suddenly drifted to a conversation that he and his brother had the night before White River ….

* * *

_Bryce was standing at the doorway to the pavilion staring outwards at the makeshift camp his father's men had made, and the other troops that had joined them for this battle. Behind him, he could hear Iain, Howe and Arl Bryland as they discussed the upcoming skirmish. Though he did not betray it in voice or manner, Bryce knew that Iain was very worried at the end result. It had been on their ride here, bringing their father's men, that Iain had first mentioned his fears._

_Now, however, the mood seemed almost jovial; almost too much so given the delicate nature of the rebellion. Though without much success, for who in their right minds could consider the disaster at West Hill a success unless you were an Orlesian, the rebellion lived on. Maric was out there somewhere, Bryce knew, though King Meghren and his Orlesian cronies were vehemently denying it. _If only we could hook up with Maric,_ Bryce thought. _Our combined forces would be so much more efficient!

_Bryce somehow managed not to jump as Rendon Howe's arm clapped him on his shoulder, effectively ending his musings._ _"Bryce, you are missing out on all of the fun!" the man finally managed to grumble. "Don't tell me your younger brother is more entertaining than you are?"_

_Bryce said nothing, but could hear his brother murmur something, though not clearly enough for him to hear. Whatever was said, Howe turned back to Bryce and said in a slurred voice, "I suppose, though, he is right. I shall see you in the morning." _

_Bryce shook his head, almost disgusted by the way that his friend seemed to drink himself into such an inebriated state on the eve before a major battle. This wasn't the first time he had done it, and Bryce doubted it would be the last. Arl Bryland, an older and much more sober man, exited the tent shortly after assuring Bryce he would make sure Howe returned safely to his tent._

_When Iain joined his brother at the doorway, he joked, "Was it something I said?"_

_Bryce couldn't refrain from laughing. "No doubt," he returned, deciding to return indoors. He wandered over to the table where a map and a bottle of Antivan Brandy, a gift from his father to the Arl, had been left. As he poured himself a glass, he heard Iain seat himself once more. Bryce sipped his drink, allowing the smoky taste to roll over the taste buds and slowly find its way to his stomach, allowing the drink to warm him as it did so. "Something on your mind, little brother?" Bryce asked, turning to face Iain._

_An almost opposite image of himself, Iain's blond hair and brown eyes were the only remaining features in their family line that belonged to their mother. And like their mother, Iain tended to be quiet and soft spoken, only chiming in when he had something important to say. At this moment, he was looking rather contemplative, Bryce thought. After what seemed like an eternity, the younger man finally responded, "I need a favor, brother."_

_Bryce was startled. Iain never asked people for favors, particularly of an older brother who was in line for the Teyrnship of Highever. "Name it," he told him without question. If Iain was asking, it was important._

_Iain actually chuckled. "Be careful, brother, for you may get what you do not wish for!"_

_Bryce smiled. He and his brother had always gotten on well, though Iain was younger, he was also more outgoing and knew how to put people at ease with his wit and humor. Bryce, on the other hand, as the eldest and next in line for the Teyrnir, was more serious and grounded. Though not entirely humorless, one of the few people who was successful at amusing the man was his brother._

_They remained in a companionable silence for a time and Bryce knew that Iain was searching for a way to tell him something. To push Iain would only make him back off, not encourage him forward. Bryce had nearly emptied his glass when Iain finally spoke. "I need a promise from you, brother."_

_Bryce nodded. "And that would be?"_

_Iain stood, walked over to Bryce and lifted his left hand. In his palm, he placed a ring. He saw Bryce's frown of confusion. "Assuming we survive this battle," he said slowly, "I am formally betrothing myself to the daughter of Bann Galen Muir."_

_Bryce was stunned. He hadn't even known that talks were in the works between the two families …. And then he saw the look behind his grey eyes. "Iain …."_

_Iain shook his head. He clasped his brother's arm. "I will not survive the battle, Bryce. Neither will the men from Highever. I think we both know that. Despite what Howe and Bryland say, despite the number of troops we have here … we will not win. I know this!" The younger man glanced away. "I ask you to promise me you will find her, watch over her for me when this does happen. She is on our side," he added with a small smile. "Her brother, Edward, is one of Bryland's men. Anyway, I want to die know she will be in good hands after I am gone."_

_Bryce was at a loss as to what to say. "Iain, does father know?"_

_Iain shook his head. "No. Eleanor and I met a number of years ago. We've been writing to each other ever since. When I suggested to her that we … marry, she agreed. This is by our own arrangement." He handed him a letter written by a delicate hand. "Just see that she is safe. That is all I ask." Turning, the younger man left the tent._

_Bryce stared after his brother for a moment, then down at the ring in his hand. What choice did he really have?_

_

* * *

_

While she slept, and he remembered, Bryce stared down at Eleanor's features. He could see why his younger brother had been so taken with the young woman: very dark hair, like the color of charcoal when used to draw a picture; eyes as green as emeralds; and a complexion that looked like porcelain. Though he didn't know her well, yet, he was curious as to this woman's personality that would have enraptured his brother so much that he would have gone against conventional wisdom and tradition in getting married.

Bryce felt Eleanor's body move against his as she shifted her sleeping position. He drew in his breath sharply as her hand moved, now rubbing against his wound. There was pain, and the only thought he could manage at that time was, _If there is pain, I am alive… and awake and this is not a dream…._

Eleanor's eyes popped open suddenly, widely, and she came face to face with Bryce. Instinctually, she pushed herself away from him, saying, "Oh!"

Bryce managed a chuckle despite the pain. "Good morning to you, too!"

Eleanor rolled to her feet in a quick movement, tossing aside the blanket she had wrapped herself in during the night. Moving to the fire, now merely a pile of coals and ash, she began working it, adding tinder and sticks, until enough of a blaze had begun to heat water for the tea she remembered she needed him to drink. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Bryce struggling to sit up. Sighing in frustration, she rushed to his side and placed a hand to his chest, pushing him back. "Don't move just yet," she explained. "I have some tea that will help with your infection."

Bryce nodded his agreement, watching her scramble back towards the fire. She seemed … nervous? Perhaps he was reading too much into her actions. "Is it … bad?" he asked. When her head snapped up, her green eyes looking confused, he clarified, "The infection."

Eleanor lowered her eyes once more, replying, "No. And the tea should set you to rights by the end of the day."

Bryce nodded in understanding, but doubted she even saw him. She seemed awfully intent upon rekindling the fire and getting a kettle of water heating at that moment. He watched her work at the fire, making the tea and fixing something to eat. Eleanor remained quiet, almost awkwardly so, and Bryce finally had to ask, "Is there something wrong?"

Eleanor shook her head, but remained silent for a time. When the tea was done, she took it over to him and told him, "You can sit up now. Drink this." She placed the cup in his hand. "Your infection should be gone by the end of the day."

Bryce nodded, doing as she instructed. Though the drink was bitter, and almost unpalatable, he downed it. "Eleanor, please," he told her. "Talk to me! We are going to be traveling together, and we'll need to … discuss things. Right now I can't trust that I'll even get response out of you let alone a truthful one!"

Eleanor returned with a bowl of porridge. "Eat this," she told him before moving back to the other side of the fire where she sat to eat.

Sighing, Bryce turned his attention to eating. He was about four bites in when he saw Eleanor set down her bowl. Tilting his head in her direction, he was barely able to catch her softly spoken words.

"You were feverish last night, … and talking about … Iain…."

It took him the briefest of moments to realize what she meant. Groaning, he set aside his food and managed to move to her side with minimal pain. Without asking, or waiting for a protest, he pulled her close and held her. He was not surprised when she began crying. "I'm sorry," he murmured, rocking her slightly in an effort to ease her pain. If he needed any further evidence aside from his brother's testimony that these two were in love, this was it. "I was dreaming of Iain," he admitted, "of our last discussion together before the battle."

Eleanor froze within his arms, but he would not let her pull away. "Eleanor, he knew he was going to die. I think we all knew that the chances of success were minimal at best, but Iain was resigned to his fate." Bryce ceased talking for a moment, searching for words that would comfort her as well as help her heal. Moving slightly, he reached over for his pack which was with hers near the fire. Inside, he found the letter, the ring that his brother had given him. Taking Eleanor's hand, he handed her the items. "Iain asked me to find you, to make sure you were safe. He made me promise to keep you safe." He chuckled softly. "Little did he realize it would be you finding me and saving my skin!"

Eleanor managed a sorrowful laugh as she placed the ring on her finger and folded the letter, the one where she had accepted his proposal, and placed it in her bag. "I just happened to be in the right place at the right time," she told him.

Bryce tilted her head up to look at him. "Iain knew you would be in danger, not just if word got out about your engagement to him, but because your brother joined Arl Bryland's troops."

Eleanor nodded, still resting against him, allowing his shared grief to help her heal. After a time, she pulled away, assisting him to his feet as she rose, saying, "We'd best get moving."

Bryce nodded in agreement. "We've got a long way to go."


	8. Travel Plans

_Thanks to Erynnar as always for being the bestest beta in all the world! [and for keeping me in the proper world! I am by no means an expert with **The Stolen Throne**!]_

_And thanks to my many, many readers, fans and reviewers [I live for feedback!] and for placing my story in your favorites or on alert! You humble me and make my day all at the same time!_

_Bioware owns it all ... I'm just messing it up!_

_

* * *

_

Their chosen path took them as far south and in the complete opposite direction of Highever as one could possibly go. Both Eleanor and Bryce knew this, just as they knew they really had no choice in their traveling plans. Being on the run from Orlesian chevaliers certainly limited their options.

The tea Bryce had drunk at the morning meal did exactly as promised. By the end of that first day, his infection and fever were long gone. By the next morning, the wound itself had knit closed and was barely discernible upon his skin save for a very thin white scar about six inches in length.

Since that morning, now some two weeks past the late-night meeting with the Healer, Eleanor still remained withdrawn. She was trying to come to terms with the loss of the man she planned to marry. Bryce, thankfully, did not try to fill the long silences with meaningless chatter, or memories and stories of Iain and his years at Highever. He respected her silence and her grief.

As they traveled this day, covered in dark grey, heavy woolen cloaks meant to protect them from the steady rain, Eleanor found herself wondering how they were ever going to survive this journey. Their original allotment of food now long gone they were resorting to hunting and scavenging forests rather than chancing nearing any village or hamlet.

Now in their fourth week out from her father's estate, they were beginning to skirt along the outer edges of the Korcari Wilds. They were at the far southern reaches of the Southron Hills where the Korcari Wilds began and then spread further south. Between the two was a valley known as the Hinterlands. This valley ran up towards Lake Calenhad. They were planning to take this route, eventually up the eastern coast of the lake, skirting the Bannorn to the west, but Eleanor knew that, if indeed there was trouble brewing in this direction, they most likely would have to resort to their backup plan: heading west to the Frostback mountains, up the west side of Lake Calenhad and then back north and east to Highever. This was a trip that could extend their journey by months.

Eleanor was pulled from her reveries when Bryce pulled his mount to a sudden halt in front of her. She remained mounted as he descended to the forest floor. "Bryce? What -?"

"Shh," he cautioned, handing her the reigns to Griffon. He lifted his shield from its mounting upon the saddle while unsheathing his sword.

Eleanor glanced around in concern. She was about to speak again when he turned to face her, holding his finger to his lips beneath his hood. He walked to her side and placed a hand to her leg, murmuring so only she could hear, "I will be back shortly. Be ready to run …." Eleanor simply nodded at his retreating form. _He's seen something_, she realized.

Minutes passed and Eleanor began to grow antsy. She tried to remain calm, mostly in an effort to keep the horses the same, but she knew this wasn't to be when Griffon shied his head and tried to pull away from her. After a while, she heard a shuffling noise behind her and reached for her bow. Always her best weapon, she could pin man or beast at a hundred paces, and from horseback even further.

Bryce moved pretty quietly for a warrior. He had also thought to wrap the edge of his cloak around his shield to keep the metal from banging against his armor. He was moving back to the east now, and slightly north. As they had traveled this way, Bryce had seen the signs: _soldiers! _his brain had screamed in warning. Now, he moved along quietly, searching for more indications. He sighed as he walked. Iain had been the better tracker, the better hunter. But the two of them together had been a formidable force indeed!

Bryce became aware of voices as he neared the edge of a cliff. Glancing around, he noticed a couple of outcrops of fir trees with larger boulders nearby. Choosing one of these clusters, he hurried to hide behind them … and managed to get behind them just in time. Moments later, three soldiers on patrol walked by where he had been standing. He listened in for a time, struggling to follow the conversation. His Orlesian wasn't the best by any means, but it was enough to follow these three.

The soldiers left after a while, and after giving himself another hundred count, Bryce departed as well. He had made it almost all the way back when he heard the sound of clanging metal a not too far distance behind him. _Damn!_ he thought, turning to increase his pace. As soon as he heard voices shouting, all thoughts of silence were gone. He had to get back to Eleanor!

Bryce knew Eleanor would have heard him before his arrival and lifted his shield in protection just before entering the clearing. "Ellie!" he hissed as he continued running, "it's me!"

Eleanor shifted her aim, searching for a target chasing behind him and finding none. "What is it?" she demanded, using her knees to nudge Titan up beside Griffon. Bryce was up, mounted, and grabbing the reins from her almost before she could finish her question. "Ride. _NOW!_" he urged her, nudging Griffon into action and leading off towards the west.

Eleanor nodded, following immediately after him. She knew better than to challenge him then and there. Besides, if his actions were any indication, her question had already been answered. Remaining silent, she brought Titan up beside Griffon as they raced on.

Bryce led them long and hard that day, only slowing the animals to walking pace when they were able to gain enough cover from the trees. Neither wanted to take their chances in the Wilds – between untamed animals, the Chasind tribes and cursed lands - the only thoughts Bryce and Eleanor had at that point were to skirt as close to the edge of the Wilds as possible while remaining out of the sight of their pursuers.

It was well after dark that night when Bryce indicated they should stop for the night. As they had brought leftover food from the previous night, Bryce stopped Eleanor from building a fire. At her look, he patted the ground and waited for her to sit beside him. Once she did, he unclasped his cloak and set it over the both of them to protect them from the drizzling rain that was currently making their lives miserable.

Without preamble and while taking some of the cold roast from her, he said, "They were waiting for us in the valley. I saw at least two different patrols and a possible third."

Eleanor's eyes widened. _That many?_ "So they are aware we survived and are on the run?"

He nodded. "And they know who we are. I managed to get close enough to listen in for a bit. They are apparently after the fifty or so of us who survived the battle at White River."

Eleanor nodded slowly. "That makes sense," she murmured. "Given King Meghren's reaction to what happened at West Hill, I'd imagine he would have viewed White River as adding insult to injury."

Bryce nodded in response. "Not only that, but from what I overheard, the Orlesian commander at White River has taken the fact that even fifty survivors – this is out of over nine hundred combatants, mind you – is fifty too many."

They ate in silence for a time, at which point Eleanor asked, "Do we know who this Orlesian commander is? Do we know anything about him?"

Bryce shook his head. "All I know is that he was referred to by the men as 'Le Loup Garou,'" he explained.

_The Werewolf_. Eleanor nodded. She had heard the name mentioned before, and none of it good. There had been more than one rumor floating around the small towns and villages across the Bannorn, as well as in the cities. Rumor had it that the Orlesians had given their lord the nickname due to his cruelty, to peasant and soldier alike. Eleanor surely hoped to never find out why.

Sighing heavily, Eleanor moved closer to Bryce, sharing what warmth she could given the lack of a fire. "I guess we have no choice but to head west then?" she queried. She leaned against him as his arm dropped around her shoulders, offering her what little comfort and protection he could.

He nodded. "I do not see that we have any other choice at this point," he replied quietly. "We'll have to leave the horses and travel by foot," he added, recalling the little he knew about the Frostback Mountains.

Eleanor nodded. She hated the thought of leaving or selling her beloved Titan or Nan's Griffon, but they would have little choice. The steep rugged terrain of the Frostback Mountains would be no place for the equines.

Bryce knew the moment that Eleanor nodded off, and chose that time to tighten his old, albeit only slightly, around her. He wished she would allow him to talk to her about Iain, to help assuage her grief. However, he had seen enough people suffering during his years at Highever to know that each person grieved differently from the next.


	9. Fading Memories

_As always, thank to Erynnar for her invaluable assistance as beta! I so appreciate your help! If you have not yet read her works, **Soulmates, The First Cut Is Always Deepest, **and **Whispering Sighs of the Blade**, I highly recommend them!_

___Thanks to all the readers, reviewers and for favoriting and alerting! My stats went "down" yesterday, so it's hard to tell how many are actually reading this at the moment, but each and everyone of you are GREATLY appreciated! Please feel free to review - I'd love to hear what you think, any thoughts or ideas and even the odd "um, you made a mistake here" are completely acceptable!_

___Shout out to NightHunter MGS and his new piece **Dragon Age: And Duty Was Lord of All** - a truly fabulous reflective piece from the point of view of Loghain and just in time for Memorial Day!_

___And, lest I forget, Bioware owns it all ... except for the bits I make up! Enjoy!_

* * *

They would be entering the Frostback Mountains the next day. Thankfully, they had run into a dwarven merchant willing to trade many of their goods for quality items that were better suited for the cold, snowy and mountainous terrain, particularly heavier clothing and outer cloaks, though Eleanor was getting frustrated with the white fur edging on hers as it tickled her nose, making her want to sneeze! The merchant, headed in a roundabout fashion towards Eleanor's father's estate, for a small sum of money had agreed to take the horses and deliver them to Bann Muir.

They made camp at the base of the mountain, one of very, very many she knew that they would have to climb before reaching the other side of the range. She had viewed a map of the Frostbacks years ago and realized at the slow pace by which they would have to travel, it was going to take them many months to reach the northern edge.

Curling up beneath her blankets, Eleanor drifted off to sleep.

* * *

_It took some time for the images to settle, but Eleanor knew she was in the Fade the moment it began. She looked around, trying to determine her location …. Finally, it hit her: the library at her father's home._

"_Ellie!" a familiar voice murmured before the sensation of a tall, well built man could be felt standing behind her._

_Eleanor spun around. "Iain!" she breathed, throwing herself into his arms for a hug, allowing him to do the same to her. With a sad smile, she lifted a hand to his face, brushing back loose strands of his hair. "Oh, how I miss you!"_

_Iain chuckled. "As I miss you." He pulled her hands to his lips, brushing a kiss against the knuckles there. "I see you wear my ring. I guess that means my brother found you?"_

_Eleanor scoffed. "I found him, more like! Nan and I went looking for Edward. I found your brother injured in a copse of trees near Edward's body." Then she fought back tears. "I did not realize I should be looking for you as well at the time!"_

_Iain shook his head, patting her shoulder. "Do not dwell on it, Ellie. It was more important that Bryce survive."_

"_But -?"_

"_El, I was gone. I knew this would be, even before the battle horns sounded. What is important now is keeping the two of you alive."_

_Eleanor sniffed softly. "Your brother seems more than capable of taking care of himself," she managed after a bit._

_Iain chuckled again, tilting her head to look up at him. "While quite true," he told her, "I was actually referring to something quite different."_

_Though it was the Fade, the library was identical to her father's. That said, there were several chairs scattered about the room, and Iain now led her to sit on one of them. "Sit," he told her gently. "I have much to tell you and very little time in which to say it."_

_He saw that she would protest, so he pushed her down before kneeling beside her. Taking her hand in his, he removed the ring – __**his**__ ring – that she had placed there when Bryce had given it to her. He held it up between his forefinger and thumb, looking through the hole at her. "First things first: Remove this ring." He observed the flash of pain in her emerald gaze and softened his words by placing his hand upon her cheek. "We were never meant to be, love," he told her, "and though I know that is a pain almost beyond enduring, you will have others, some even more difficult to bear, before this journey is over."_

_Eleanor saw a sadness in his eyes. "What?" she asked._

_Iain shook his head. "No, it is not my place to tell you. You will find out soon enough. Just know that the trials you, and my brother, will have to endure will be the mortar you to strengthen your relationship for what is to come." He quieted for a moment, as if pushing away unwanted or unbidden thoughts. Then, he continued a bit more brightly, "What I can do, is tell you that your destiny and that of my brother's lie together."_

_Eleanor was surprised at his words, to say the very least. "Are you telling me that I should marry your brother?"_

_Iain's grin was wide and reached to his eyes. "No," he reassured her, "I am not __**telling**__ you to marry him. I am simply saying that the two of you have similar paths to follow, and that should you feel so inclined as to marry, I would not have any objections to the arrangement."_

"_I can't believe I am hearing this!" she muttered, rising to her feet once more._

_Iain pushed her back into the seat. "Not done," he told her simply._

_Eleanor, truly frustrated now, crossed her arms in front of her. "Now what?" she demanded._

_Iain took a very brief moment to laugh. "You know, your brother once warned me just how stubborn you can be."_

"_Did he now?" she growled._

_Iain's grin widened even further as he watched her react to his words. "Yes. He said, 'If you think I'm stubborn, you ought to see El! Once she's made a decision you are about as likely to change her mind as you would be in convincing a mabari pup to imprint on someone other than he's chosen!'"_

_Eleanor's frown deepened, but she said nothing._

_Finally relenting, Iain took her hand in his and squeezed. "I would have married you, Ellie, you do know that, don't you?" He saw her anger thaw, a slight nod of her head her only response to his question. "But I know now that what you and I might have had together pales in comparison to what you can find with Bryce." He felt her stiffen at his words. "He is a good man, Ellie. Honorable, duty-driven like you. You two would make the most formidable match in all of Ferelden. Not even Maric, once he becomes king, will surpass the two of you!"_

_Eleanor noticed then that both Iain's voice and visage were beginning to waver, fading away. Leaning forward, she cried in alarm, "Iain!"_

_But though his smile was sorrowful, he told her, "Live your life well and happy."_

_

* * *

_

With a gasp, Eleanor bolted up … and felt a hand at her shoulder. Bryce was standing above her. Leaning down to speak near her ear, he murmured, "It's time to go."

Eleanor rubbed her eyes, trying to scrub the sleep from them. "Right," she replied softly. When he extended his hand to her, she took it, bouncing to her feet beside him.

Bryce searched her face. She seemed … unsettled today. "Everything okay?" he queried gently.

Eleanor offered him a hesitant smile. "Yes," she returned softly. "Everything is fine." Then reaching down, she lifted and shouldered her pack, did the same with her bow and reassured herself that her dagger was in its usual spot. She rolled up her blankets and stowed them atop the pack and secured her cloak around her, annoying trim and all. Turning towards the man her betrothed had indicated should now be hers, she announced, "Ready."

Bryce simply watched her, sensing a change in her attitude, but unsure of its source or how complete it would be. "Right then," he said, shouldering his own pack and lifting his hood to protect from the wind and snow. "Let's be off."

Eleanor followed behind Bryce, thinking to herself as they began to ascend the mountain, _These are but the first steps of many. Maker watch over us and keep us safe!_


	10. Falling

_ Flat out warning: This is the equivalent of the "tent scene" from the game! _

_ As always, thanks to Erynnar for her help and guidance! She keeps me on track when I would wander too far off!_

_And thanks to all of my readers, reviewers, and everyone for favoriting, adding to alert status and such! You make my day and keep me humble! I have so much fun writing … I never knew it could be this much fun! Thank you so much!_

_ And as always, Bioware owns it all except for my creative input!_

_

* * *

_

The days were beginning to blend into one another by the end of the third week. Each day they made progress, though not as fast as they might have hoped. It was tough work climbing up and down mountains.

One afternoon, as they were descending a particularly nasty switchback, a violent winter storm caught them off guard and they struggled to make it to a suitable location for shelter. At one point, Eleanor slipped, almost falling over the side of the mountain, but Bryce managed to catch her arm with his, locking them so that she simply landed on her knees instead of pitching over. After she was still for a moment, safe, he pulled her back from the edge and leaned against the stone surface simply holding her, damning the storm that blew around them.

An hour after that, they found a small cave in the rockface and set up their simplified camp. They made a fire, established their bedrolls and made something to eat. All the while, each remained silent, keeping their thoughts hidden. Whether the silence was due to the near brush with death, the storm, the days on end of travel, or sheer exhaustion didn't matter: the silence was companionable and filling it with unnecessary conversation would have made matters worse.

After they had eaten, Bryce stood and wandered close to the cave opening. He was not surprised when Eleanor joined him a few moments later. She moved to his side, having pulled her cloak over her shoulders, but keeping her head free. She stood next to him silently. Bryce took a chance and lifted his arm, placing it around Eleanor's shoulder. He felt her stiffen at first at the contact, before relaxing beneath his touch.

As she released her anxieties of the day, Eleanor leaned into Bryce's embrace. Glancing down at her, he lifted an eyebrow in question. She glanced up at him, tilting her head. Bryce took a long moment to consider … before lowering his lips to hers.

Eleanor reveled in the touch for a time before she suddenly pushed Bryce back, giving them space. "Bryce, stop!"

Reluctantly, he took a step back and watched as she moved back over by the fire. "El, what's wrong?" he asked.

When she turned to face him, he saw tears building in her eyes. "Do you not understand the dangers we face?" she choked out. "We can't get involved – we could be traveling through these mountains for months and that is assuming we can actually make it to the other side of the range alive!"

Bryce stepped towards her once more and when he stood beside her, pulled her close so he could rest his forehead against hers. At the same time, he whispered softly, "Maker knows I did not plan this, Ellie! But despite everything, and not simply because of the promise I made to Iain, do you not understand that without you I wouldn't feel alive at all? You are coming to mean a great deal to me …."

Eleanor shuddered at the thought. Covering his lips with her fingers she hissed, "Don't say such things, Bryce! What if -"

Bryce was insistent and pulled his mouth from her fingers. "No, not what if, Ellie! Life is too short for what ifs."

Eleanor groaned, leaning her head against his shoulder. "This is so easy for you!" she hissed in a voice filling rapidly with despair. "You are a Teyrn's eldest son. If you should change your mind at a later date, nothing will be said against you! Where will that leave me?" she argued harshly. "My reputation is at stake as well, and I'm less of a bargaining chip seeing that I'm only a lesser Bann's daughter, not that of a high and mighty Teryn!"

Bryce took her face between his hands, forcing her to look into his steel blue eyes, eyes that were burning with the intensity of his emotions. "Eleanor, I have no doubt in my mind that you are meant for me and me alone!" he told her. "I fully intend to ask your father for your hand, as soon as is possible given our … current nomadic existence." He leaned closer, not relinquishing his hold. "You are mine!" he told her firmly before covering her lips with his own in a kiss meant to show possession.

Eleanor felt the crush of him against her, felt the power that emanated from his body to hers simply through the kiss and wondered if he might be right. She lifted her hands, long graceful fingers attached to capable, strong hands, and wrapped her arms around his neck. _For balance_, she told herself, though she knew better. Moments later, she shifted slightly, adjusting the angle of her mouth, taking their kiss that much deeper.

Bryce felt the tension in her shoulders leaving as he slid his arms around her waist, pulling her onto the blankets closer to him. He lifted a hand to the clasp at the back of her head, releasing her raven locks so that they spilled down over her shoulders, reaching her waist. He slid his hands through the lengths, admiring the thickness, the strength, the absolute beauty of the tendrils. He had been itching to see her hair down, to touch it, run his fingers through it since the moment he had awoken to find her leaning over him.

Eleanor's breath caught at the mere feel of his hands, the slight tug of her hair as he combed it with his calloused fingers. She was unprepared for the sensations that coursed through her at that moment. Sure, she had stolen kisses from boys before, and some of them had even been other banns' sons, but this man was doing things to her that by itself meant nothing special, but in reality caused reactions she had never dared dream of. She felt his hand move from her hair to the bodice of her shirt, unlacing the corset so that he could push the sleeves off her shoulders. Gently, ever so slowly, she felt the warmth of her skin, now flushed with desire, being exposed to the air in the cave. The warmth of the fire was not enough to warm the entire space, yet she did not feel the cold.

Bryce pulled himself into a seated position, adjusting their positions so that she was lying across his lap, her back up against his chest. He continued to loosen the laces of her corset, first sliding down the left sleeve and then the right. He could hear mewling gasps coming from her as he kissed her neck, her temple; his hands touching the skin of her shoulders and arms before moving back to the laces once more and caressing her breasts as he finally freed both them and her right arm from the shirt's confines. Though a part of him wanted to rip the items off of her in a primordial display of ownership, he resisted the urge and pulled them over her head.

Eleanor's head tilted backwards to rest against his shoulder, her entire body lost in the sensations that Bryce was creating by the simple removal of clothing. She had never felt this way before. She could not hold in the little gasps and purrs that his touch was causing. As he continued to kiss her neck, her shoulder and beyond, she felt his right arm slide around her waist and his left reach for the waistband of her trousers. Slowly, teasingly, he loosed the ties and lowered the material inch by blessed inch until he exposed the flesh he found there. Her eyes closed, her body riding a wave of pleasure she hadn't believed could exist.

Bryce's breath caught as Eleanor arched her back, her head falling back against his chest, her breathing harsh, almost violent, as his fingers continued tracing patterns up her skin, beneath her clothing until they found their destination.

Eleanor's gasp was audible, harsh to his ears. Her body tensed for a moment, but he waited patiently, until she accepted the sensations. The moment she melted back against him, he knew she was his. But he did not change tactics. Rather, he continued to tease her, creating a new tension within her that could be felt in each muscle of her toned body.

Eleanor wanted to scream as his fingers slid beneath her smallclothes, touching her where no man had ever touched her before. Her breath coming in ragged gasps, she couldn't keep the sobs of desire from escaping. She felt Bryce's warm breath at her neck, felt his lips, even his teeth, nipping at the skin there. He slid his fingers further, teasing, tempting, _torturing_ her to such degrees that she wanted to scream at him to stop. Finally, she managed to use a hand to grab the hand causing much of her distress … only to feel the other slide beneath her arm and capture one of her breasts tightly. "Oh, M-Maker!" she breathed, feeling her body beginning to shudder.

Bryce chuckled at this. Turning her so that she was laying back on their bedrolls, he leaned forward and murmured, "That's the first time I've ever been referred to as the Almighty!" He saw her momentary look of confusion turn into a small smile. Taking a calming breath, he told her, "Ellie, love, I need to hear it from you. If you truly do not want this, we will not do it, but I must know now …."

Eleanor's breath caught at his words. Closing her eyes, she didn't notice the tears that fell until his fingertips began wiping them away. Opening them once more, she nodded at him and whispered, "I – I want this …"

Bryce groaned, leaning forward to kiss her again. The restraint he had been keeping under control now gone. He grasped the waistband of her trousers and yanked them the remaining distance down her long, slender, shapely legs until they had been removed. All that remained at that point were her smallclothes which he removed next.

Eleanor felt numb. She knew what was about to happen, she even wanted it to be. But she was afraid. Certainly because she had never been with a man before, but also because she did not know if this would change their relationship at all. They were hardly more than friends at this point, and on the run from men who wanted him and perhaps even her now dead. She watched through fascinated eyes as Bryce rose and quickly removed his clothing and then lay back beside her.

Bryce could see her face in the dim light provided by the fire. Lifting her hand to his chest, he told her, "Touch me as I touch you. I want you to enjoy this as much as I."

Eleanor blushed. "Bryce …"

Undeterred, he lowered her hand to his ribs. "I plan to touch every inch of your body tonight," he said huskily. "I sincerely hope you will return the favor…."

Eleanor shuddered as his hands returned to fulfill his promise. Her arms, her shoulders … then further down towards her legs, and other more intimate destinations. She felt his fingers return to where they had been before … and further.

Bryce leaned forward to kiss her as he slid a finger inside. Her breath was shallow, her skin sporting a sheen of sweat. She moaned softly, barely able to keep her focus on touching him in return. When she started to shudder again, her body giving in to needs that it instinctually understood, Bryce moved himself over her. "Eleanor," he whispered, his voice tight. He saw her struggle to open her eyes, to look into his. "Love, please!"

Eleanor shifted her position giving him the access he needed. And, though she knew vaguely what to expect, knew he was being as gentle as possible, she did not get her eyes closed fast enough to hide the pain. He leaned forward near her ear. "Ellie …?"

Eleanor nodded. "I'm – I'm okay," she insisted. When he stopped, holding still, allowing her time to accept him, she reached a hand up to his face, caressing his cheek, running her fingers through the dark auburn waves she found there. She lifted her other hand, now framing his face. In the process, her body readjusted its position … and she gasped, her eyes shooting to meet his.

Bryce, by now almost beyond the point of self control, saw the fire return to her eyes. Deciding to take a chance, he began moving, slowly at first and then gaining momentum. He saw she was beginning to enjoy it, starting to respond … and saw her find her release just before he did.

Eleanor groaned minutes later, moving slightly to discover a heavy weight laying against her. Opening her eyes, she finally focused on a face she was learning to love, eyes as blue as the sea and hair of such a shade of chestnut …. She looked away as the intensity of his gaze became too much.

Bryce chuckled at the blush that crept up her neck. "Don't you think it's a little late for that?" he teased gently. He chuckled softly as she ducked her head, curling it against his chest, beneath his chin. He rolled so that his weight was off of her and then pulled her back against his chest. Wrapping an arm around her waist, he held her close and whispered, "You are mine, Ellie!" He felt her curl her body against his as she replied softly, "As you are mine."


	11. Surprises

_Okay, as I'm sure you can all figure out sort of what comes next, let me just say that … well, what did you expect? =D _

_ Thanks as always to Erynnar for being a beta for me!_

_Bioware owns all but what I made up!_

_

* * *

_

Eleanor stayed behind Bryce, at his insistence, using his body to block the worst of the wind and snow as they traversed the ridge. For the umpteenth time now, she thanked the Maker that they had left the horses behind with the dwarven merchant!

As it was now, she and Bryce had attached a length of rope, tied around each of their waists, just in case one slid off the side of the mountain … _again _… or, more accurately, in case Eleanor slid off. Both knew that if Bryce were to go over the edge, they would both be joining the Maker.

Without the horses, and having to climb and descend all of the mountains, Eleanor realized they couldn't have gotten very far along the map, let alone anywhere near Orzamaar which was where they hoped to exit the Frostbacks at long last.

Right now, however, it was all Eleanor could do to simply put one foot in front of the other. They had entered the mountains more than three months before, and since their night together, their relationship had blossomed. _The only thing that could grow in this Maker forsaken weather!_ she thought idly. It wasn't just that they were sleeping together, either. Bryce had been slowly, steadily showing her in both little ways and more that she was important to him, that he loved her and wanted to be with her because of who she was. And Eleanor was trying to do the same in return.

Now, however, Bryce tried to maintain a steady pace as they trudged their way though snow reaching above their knees at some points. He was using his shield at the moment as a barrier to the wind and blowing snow. His sword he occasionally used to check dept, solidity and any other method of self-preservation that was necessary. This had become their routine, traveling during daylight hours only, finding caves to rest in whenever possible to reduce the chance of getting a tent buried in snow.

Food was scarce. Occasionally, they would come across a rabbit or even the rare shamois mountain goats so rare in Ferelden these days. But more days than not, they would simply go hungry. That was why, at first, Eleanor didn't give much thought to the changes occurring to her body. She'd seen the poor, the starving folk in the villages while assisting in her charity duties for her father. She knew what the terms 'malnutrition' and 'starvation' both meant and looked like. She did not even think to challenge that the changes she was experiencing were anything but related to those.

It wasn't until they were beginning their fourth month in the mountains that Eleanor realized the truth of her situation.

They were seated at the fire, Eleanor curled against Bryce's chest as they nibbled at the remains of the previous night's leftovers. Eleanor tossed the animal bone she had denuded of its meat into the fire, leaning forward as she did so. While moving, she felt Bryce's hand sliding up to her shoulder, unconsciously and instinctively protecting her from falling into the blaze, but brushing against her breast at the same time. Caught unawares by the pain and sensitivity found there, Eleanor released a harsh, gasping breath.

Bryce released her immediately, sitting up straighter, a look of concern crossing his features. "Ellie? What's wrong?"

Eleanor shook her head as she sat back, leaning against him once more, but covering her breasts with crossed arms. "Nothing," she returned. "Just a bit … sore …."

Bryce wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close once more. "Is this from that fall yesterday?" Eleanor had slipped on a patch of ice hidden beneath the snow the previous afternoon and had gone down very hard. So hard, in fact, she had trouble breathing afterwards for several minutes.

"No," she returned, her brain going into overdrive to determine the cause. "It's nowhere near that area." She snuggled closer to him, turning so their bodies fit closer together. Again she brushed against him unexpectedly, and again she couldn't swallow back the pain.

Bryce turned towards her, pushing Eleanor's cloak off of her shoulders. "It was the other side this time?" She nodded. He began pushing up her shirts – she had taken to wearing two due to the extreme cold they had encountered in the mountains. She felt him placing her hand over the bunched up fabric, holding it out of his way just beneath her chin. Eleanor then felt him deftly removing her breastband. Despite their intimate relationship and the fact that it was only the two of them sitting here, Eleanor found herself blushing in embarrassment. "Bryce -!"

Bryce allowed her to lower her hand and her shirts, though he set the breastband aside. He caught her gaze, saw her ever growing frustration, and offered her a tentative smile.

Pursing her lips, she shoved him lightly, straightening her shirts so that they covered her completely once more. "Through playing nursemaid?" she demanded testily.

Bryce chuckled. "Sorry!" he murmured. He patted the seat beside him, encouraging her to move closer once more. After a few moments of refusal, Eleanor finally sidled up next to him, laying her head upon his shoulder. "I need to ask you something, El," he murmured into her hair.

Eleanor felt the warmth of his body and from the fire lulling her to sleep. "Hmmm?"

"El," he said again, shaking her slightly.

Reluctantly, Eleanor pulled back. "What?"

"I need to know the last time you had your menses," he said softly. He watched her face, her eyes. He saw the confusion first. This turned thoughtful almost immediately … and then carried over to fear.

"Right after I found you …!" she whispered, the blood draining from her already pale features. She saw Bryce reaching out towards her, but she was quicker and scooted back from his reach. "Oh, Maker!"

_Oh Maker is right!_ Bryce thought momentarily. He took a deep breath. "Ellie?" he called softly, extending his hand again, silently wishing her to take it, but not willing to force the issue. "Ellie, please come sit by me."

Eleanor shook her head. _How could I?_ "I-I can't!" she breathed in a panic. "I'm n-no better than a com-common whore!"

Bryce jumped to his feet and stormed over to her. Though she could see anger in his body language, in his jerky movements, he was gentle when he reached down to help her to her feet beside him. Placing his hands around her face, turning her to face him, he murmured to her, "In this place, in this hour as I encounter Andraste, the Maker's bride, in these mountains, I take you as my wife, my soulmate, my love and my joy throughout the years to come, however many or few we may have together." He watched as large tears rolled down her cheeks. With a smile, he added, "Ellie, I have learned from the beginning how to love you."

Eleanor dropped her head to his chest, her tears increasing their pace. "I-I …." She sighed heavily, dropping her hand to her stomach and using the other to reach out to his. "I don't know how … to say it like you," she finally whispered. "But, you have taught me how to … love again … how to feel more than the pain of … loss …." She looked back up at him. "I take you as my husband, my soulmate, my love and my joy throughout the years to come, however many or few we may have together …," she echoed. And when his arms pulled her close, held her as if she was a part of him, she found peace at last.


	12. Transitions

_Yes, I had to get Haven in! How can you journey from one end of the Frostback Mountains to the other without stopping by Haven, eh?_

_Thanks as always to Erynnar for her invaluable assistance as beta! I am truly honored! Thanks for putting up with me!_

_As always, Bioware owns all but what I made up._

* * *

Bryce stood there in the cold and wind, Eleanor leaning against him for support, both physical and emotional, as the guard continued to deny them entrance to the village. "All we want to do is trade for supplies!" Bryce insisted. "We do not plan to stay any longer than it takes for us to obtain provisions for our journey!"

"Sorry. No visitors are allowed to enter Haven."

Eleanor, exhausted as she was, bit out, "Rather insolent of you to call you village Haven if you do not plan to offer it as such!" She felt Bryce's hand at her waist squeeze gently, reminding her to calm down. Sighing, she leaned into his arms more.

"Please," Bryce begged, "my wife is pregnant. All we want is to get some food provisions to help us along our journey! If our weapons bother you that much, we can leave them here and retrieve them on our way out after we have traded."

Another guard approached then and, noticing the confrontation, approached. Bryce took the time to reiterate his arguments. Both guards stepped aside after the second had been brought up to date so they could discuss the matter and finally the second guard nodded at them. "The store is up that way," he told them, pointing up a slope. "You may keep your weapons with you. Just go and make your purchases and then leave us."

"Thank you!" Bryce replied, placing his arm around Eleanor's back and beginning to lead her in the direction indicated. As they started towards the store, he leaned down to Eleanor. "Are you all right?"

Eleanor leaned into his shoulder. "I'm fine," she replied softly.

The slope was far from gentle, but Eleanor was surprising Bryce by her strength both in character and physicality. Sure, she leaned upon him for support, but there was an edge beneath the surface that kept her going. They arrived at the store, which was empty of people but for the owner. Bryce spoke briefly to the man who finally managed to find a spare crate for Eleanor to sit on and rest while he and Bryce got down to brass tacks trading.

By the end of the transaction, Bryce had bartered for enough food supplies to last nearly two weeks, some health potions and additional blankets, clothing and other items he felt they might need in the upcoming months. He glanced at Eleanor and saw that she was falling asleep. As a final act because he knew he and Eleanor had to get moving again, Bryce asked, "Do you know if there are any other towns or villages between here and Orzamaar?"

The man shook his head. "I've never been outside the village," he told him. "And I don't know that anyone here has, … except perhaps, Revered Father Eirik."

Eleanor and Bryce exchanged a look. With a slight shake of his head, Bryce kept Eleanor silent. "Might the Revered Father be free to speak with?" he asked.

The man, Bode he claimed his name to be, shook his head. "No, sorry, ser. The Revered Father is up in the Chantry leading the daily prayers. He won't be done for hours yet."

Bryce nodded in understanding … and concern. "Thanks for your assistance. My wife and I really should be going. We will simply have to trust our luck."

The man nodded and held the door for them as they exited. Bryce led Eleanor back the way they had come and eventually out of Haven, past the guard they had initially had their disagreement with. Only then, when they were well out of earshot, did Eleanor, still taking precautions, lean further into his arms and whisper, "There is a great evil there, Bryce."

Bryce nodded. He could hear the fear in her voice and felt the shudder that ran through her body. Maker knew, he felt the same after that experience. There _was_ something evil there. "I think it is best we left when we did," he agreed. Squeezing her tighter in reassurance, he added, "Let's get moving. I don't know about you, but I am feeling an increasing need to place a greater distance between us and this … village."

Eleanor nodded her agreement.

* * *

So unnerved by the village were they that Bryce and Eleanor decided to push on hard the remainder of daylight afforded to them. They stopped only briefly to eat a little something, to drink some water, to give Eleanor a chance to rest. It was later that afternoon. after placing several miles between themselves and the town of Haven, Bryce led Eleanor into yet another cave for the night. "You know," he teased, assisting her to the ground to sit, "when this is all over and done with, I don't think I'll ever be able to come back and enjoy the mountains ever again!"

Eleanor actually laughed at his comment, releasing the tension she had held in since that morning in the village as she sat back against her bedroll. "I am in complete agreement with you there," she told him.

Bryce left the packs near her, heading off to find what he could in the way of firewood and meat for their evening meal. If he could, he wanted to preserve the goods that they had managed to find in Haven for the times that they absolutely had to have it. Maker only knew how long it would be before they came upon another village that would be willing to barter with them. And with Eleanor being pregnant, well, Bryce knew he would go without before he would ever let her.

It was getting dark when Bryce finally returned to the cave, his arms laden with a suitable amount of fuel, when he found Eleanor still seated on the ground, the packs lying where he had left them, her arms wrapped around her swollen waistline …. Instantly terrified beyond reasoning, he dropped the wood near the front of the cave and rushed to her side. Kneeling beside her and reaching out to touch her arm, he called, "Ellie! Are you all right?" When she glanced up at him, he felt his heart drop to his stomach. "What is it, El?"

Eleanor, unable to stop the flow of tears once it began, reached for his hand. She gripped it for a long moment, then moved it to where their child slept. "He – he moved, Bryce!" she breathed in awe. She pulled on his arm to make him sit beside her. "He turned over and – I - !"

Bryce felt it: the light, fluttery movement against his hand, knowing in that moment that he would never feel anything quite like the love he already held for his unborn child. Eleanor moved his hand, following the child's movement, for another few moments until the baby settled down. Wrapping his arms around Eleanor, Bryce pulled her close. He could not hold back tears of joy that formed in his eyes, at the thought of the tiny little life that he and the woman he loved had created together.


	13. Arrivals

_I apologize ahead of time for the length of this chapter, but I did not feel I could chop it in two. Additionally, this is somewhat of a … therapy for me, if you will. Almost 11 years ago, I was pregnant with my son. I had as close to a "perfect" pregnancy as you could get – sick only one day, happy, healthy, etc. I got HUGE (thought for a bit it might be twins, but no such luck!). Unfortunately for me, I did not have the perfect delivery. In fact, it ended up being one of the worst experiences I've ever been through (except perhaps my husband's heart attack scare a couple of years ago.) The blame and fault lay with the hospital and staff. This far out from that experience, I had thought it behind me, but I guess it wasn't. _

_ All of that said, I think I may have finally worked through all of my issues by writing this chapter. I hope so at any rate! I have only my one personal experience to draw from, but tons of nieces and nephews and a sister-in-law who is studying to become a nurse-midwife._

_ My thanks as ever to Erynnar for being my beta! You rock my socks, Sweetie! Thanks so much for being there to help, to chat, to … get the bat out and swing it if necessary! Check out her works if you haven't already. **Soulmates, The First Cut is Always Deepest **and** Whispers of the Blade** are fabulous!_

_ Bioware owns it all except for my ideas …._

_

* * *

_

After a particularly exhausting day, Eleanor sat beside the fire, blankets drawn over her legs, her cloak pulled tightly around her and she simply collapsed. Bryce glanced over at her a time or two, concerned, but she mumbled responses to his questions, so he did not hover.

He built the fire first. Warmth. Comfort. Then food. He sat outside the cave to clean and spit the hare, as the smell alone was enough to make Eleanor gag these days. Once he had their meal going, he finally moved to sit beside her, reaching down to brush hair back from her face but not waking her completely.

_I can't keep dragging her though the mountains like this_, he thought. _She's nearing the end. We have to find something more … permanent. She will not be able to travel like we have been for at least four weeks, more likely longer …._ He rose and approached the entrance to the cave. _We need a place where we can find food, game, where I won't have to leave her alone for too long._

Bryce heard a soft whimper behind him and turned to return to Eleanor's side. She moved in her dreams occasionally, making noises, but she continued to sleep. _Tomorrow,_ he decided. _Tomorrow we find a place to stay for the duration_.

* * *

Eleanor sighed when Bryce halted their advance. _Maker, I tire too easily these days!_ Leaning back against the rock face, she turned to look at the man to whom she had tied herself.

He stood near the edge of their trail, scouting out and about. He told her that morning that their goal this day was to find a location for a more permanent stay.

Eleanor watched him, pride in him filling her until she thought she might explode. She could not say she loved him just yet, but as he had done the night they had realized they would become a family, she had made her vows to him as well. He offered her his love without question, his protection, his name …and all this from a man destined to be Teyrn Cousland of Highever.

_Your uncle was right, little one_, she thought while absently rubbing her belly, _your father is an honorable man. I hope you grow up to be just like him!_

Turning back to Eleanor, Bryce reached out a hand which she automatically took into her own. Pointing below them, he asked, "Down there …. Can you see it?" She nodded after a moment. "Do you think you can make it down there?"

Eleanor gave him a grin. "We have to," she told him simply. She slid her arm around his waist as he wrapped his along her back and up to her shoulder. Together they descended the mountain.

* * *

"Are you scared?"

There they were. The three words that both Eleanor and Bryce had been avoiding ever since discovering Eleanor's pregnancy. Three words that, answered honestly, could bring them closer together. Three words that, if not answered, could tear them apart.

Eleanor and Bryce stared at each other a long moment before …. Laughter, it has been said, can heal in unimaginable ways. It makes the body feel at ease, and soothes the emotions as well. Their laughter, by mutual consent, resulted in smiles.

Sitting back, Bryce pulled Eleanor next to him, wrapping his arm around her, resting his hand upon their sleeping child. "Not much longer, yes?" he asked.

Eleanor laughed, pushing his arm into a more comfortable location for them both. "I hope not," she replied. "I had no idea I could get this … large!"

"Ah, my love," he murmured near her ear, "you are and will always be beautiful to me."

Eleanor smiled at him, thankful for his words. "The way I feel right now," she told him honestly, "I somehow doubt that."

Bryce watched her move, mostly by rolling her body, over to her sleeping roll. "Would you like some assistance?" he asked.

Eleanor sighed. Blowing loose tendrils of hair out of her eyes, she replied, "I look like a mabari wallowing in a mud puddle, don't I?"

Bryce struggled not to laugh. Though she was the one making the joke, he did not wish to hurt her feelings. But when she smiled at him, he knew it was okay, and he let it out. Rising and moving to assist her, he responded, "I know better than to place myself in that kind of position."

Bryce stayed beside her for a time, stroking her long raven locks, now unbound, and offering her what comfort and companionship he could. He knew it wasn't much, nor enough, just as he knew that they should be someplace safe and warm with women around who knew how to help Eleanor. But that was not to be, and there was nothing he could do to change it.

* * *

"I am going to get some game," he told her as Eleanor seated herself by the fire. "Be a good girl while I am gone!"

Eleanor laughed, which he felt made the day a success already,, as she had woken up irritable and achy. He didn't want to leave her, suspecting that the birth would begin soon, but he knew he needed to hunt now while he had the chance. He saw her move her bow close beside her, within easy reach. "Go," she told him reassuringly. "The sooner you go, the sooner you will be back!" She knew he was afraid for her.

Eleanor sighed as he finally turned the corner outside the cave. She waited a good twenty count just to make sure he wasn't returning, before she struggled to her feet. Once upright, she stumbled over to their cache of supplies. Looking through them, she began sorting out the items she would need.

* * *

Though he had never had much luck with the bow in past, Bryce felt a certain sense of jubilation about the three rabbits he caught. So it was with a smile on his face and the thought of how surprised Eleanor would be at his catch that he approached the cave later that day …

… and heard the most bloodcurdling scream he had ever encountered before in his life and prayed to the Maker he would never hear again. He ran the rest of the way, dropping his things near the entrance, before hurrying over to Eleanor's side. She was standing, further back inside the cave and away from the fire, leaning against the stone wall. "Ellie!" he cried.

Eleanor opened her eyes, pain clearly evident behind the emerald green orbs. "Yo-you're back?" she managed, lifting a hand to his face.

Bryce nodded, sliding an arm around her. "How long ago did this start?"

"Overnight …," she whispered, groaning as she felt the start of another sharp pain.

Bryce groaned. "Why didn't you tell me?" he asked. Then he shook his head. "Never mind," he told her. "How can I help?"

"Walk …," she told him, obviously struggling with the pain. "I want to … walk."

Bryce nodded, not inclined to argue with her. She had told him before that she had attended births in the past, which was more than he could say for himself. Placing his arm round her, he began assisting her around their "home." "Lean on me if you want," he told her. "I'm going to leave it up to you to tell me what you want or need." She nodded, her head against his shoulder.

So they walked, for what seemed like and probably was hours. Occasionally halting when a particularly bad pain hit, or when Eleanor wanted a drink of water. Eleanor outright refused food, but insisted that Bryce eat. And then clean the rabbits he had caught. "Everything must be … normal …," she insisted.

Bryce humored her, though he was not sure it was the right course of action. He ate some of the leftovers from the previous night. He skinned and cleaned the rabbits, setting aside the skins to treat later and make something warm to wrap the baby in.

While he ate, Eleanor insisted she remain standing, which she did using the walls for support. The panting cries that she made nearly tore his heart out for fear of her safety, and the baby's, but Bryce focused on pleasing her.

When he moved back to her side, he began walking her around the cave again. He could tell that she was progressing by the frequency of her cries, as well as their tone. The further along she progressed, the deeper and more guttural her cries became. At one point, she stopped and bent almost double, crying out and almost falling over as she released her hold on Bryce and wrapped her arms around her belly. Moments later, Bryce could see liquid pooling on the floor.

Assisting Eleanor to her feet, he led her to their bedroll. "Time to lie down?"

Eleanor nodded, but moved first to remove her clothing and change into one of the large linen shirts he had purchased for her in Haven. As she did so, Bryce watched in horrified fascination: she was much, much too skinny for someone this pregnant, he thought. More waves of guilt began to wash over him.

Eleanor finally found a comfortable position on her side, and begged Bryce to sit beside her. He agreed, after making sure that they had what they needed for the delivery available within close range. Taking her hand in his, he adjusted their positions, placing her head upon his lap, and he began to talk. He told her of growing up with Iain at Highever. He described his training as a shield warrior, received with an uncle who lived closer to Jader, but still within the boundaries of Ferelden.

Hours passed and with each passing minute, Bryce felt more and more hopeless. Sure, he had seen animals; sheep, cows, pigs … even mabari warhounds, give birth, but nothing that ever lasted quite as long as this.

Eleanor rested as she could, knowing she would need her strength at the end. She too, noted that her process was becoming lengthy, and she began to recall the stories she had overheard the servants tell of her mother's delivery … and subsequent death.

Bryce felt Eleanor's hand against his, squeezing tight, stirring him out of his catnap. Leaning towards her immediately, he murmured, "I am here."

When the pain passed, Eleanor told him, "I need to tell you something …."

Bryce nodded, taking the moment to lie down beside her so their faces were close. He maintained the rip on her hand, and placed his other on her belly to feel her contractions as they came. "I am listening, love," he promised.

Eleanor nodded, feeling another pain beginning and taking a deep breath. "M-my mother," she panted through the pain, "she … she died … giving us … life."

Bryce nodded, hoping that the sudden fear creeping up his spine would not be noticeable. "You will be fine," he whispered near her ear. "Both you and our child will be fine." He watched her turn her head so that her eyes, dulled with pain and fatigue, could lock onto his. The moment they did, he felt the change, could see her gaining strength. Something was finally beginning to happen. "Now?" he asked.

Panting harshly, she nodded. "Now!"

They had discussed earlier on how Eleanor wanted to proceed with things. He explained to her of his limited experience of birthing with animals. She admitted to her assistance of the poorer folk in the towns and villages around her father's estate. They had finally agreed, or rather, Eleanor decided to deliver while on her hands and knees. Now assisting her into position, Bryce sincerely hoped this would work.

Eleanor closed her eyes against the pain as it began to roll over her, wave after wave after wave. She tried swallowing it, keeping it in, so Bryce wouldn't have to see …. She felt his hand at her back, rubbing it soothingly. She heard him lean down and murmur to her, near her ear, but she could not make out the words. In the distance, she could hear the echoes of screams, and belatedly realized that they must be her own.

Bryce felt utterly and completely useless, but he kept up what he had promised her he would do. "You are almost there, Ellie," he told her encouragingly. "You are doing fine. Just a little bit longer …."

And then, quite suddenly, it was over. Bryce caught the infant in his large and rather unsteady hands, reaching for some linens to clean the squalling child with. He noted Eleanor was about to collapse, and he shifted the babe in his arm so that he could ease its mother to the bed roll.

Quickly, efficiently, Bryce cleaned off the child, chuckling delightedly when his son began protesting his first bath. He saw Eleanor move slightly at the sound, and he increased his pace to complete what needed to be done.

Eleanor's eyes were closed, her body sore and aching, but at the sound of the baby's cry, she felt her heart bursting with joy. Within moments, Bryce was lying the child beside her. "I need your help, my love," he told her while placing a brief kiss on her forehead. "Meet your son while I … attend to a few things."

"A … a son?" she breathed, staring down into the infant's eyes. The child had stopped fussing the moment she spoke, as if it recognized her voice. Unable to restrain her tears, Eleanor managed to bring her hand up to touch his fingers … his cheek … his tiny button nose …. "Welcome to our world, little one," she told him.

Eleanor knew not how long it was before Bryce completed his tasks and moved to her side. She felt him lifting a blanket over her to ward off the chill she was finally beginning to notice. The infant appeared to be sleeping now, his eyes closed and his little breaths coming evenly. Turning her head to look up at Bryce, Eleanor could no longer hold back her tears. "Oh, Bryce!" she whispered feeling completely overwhelmed. She leaned into his embrace as his arms moved around her.

Bryce smiled into her hair. "You did it, Ellie," he said, kissing her cheek.

"Not without you," she said quietly. "Thank you."

Bryce shook his head, but only asked, "What shall we name him?"

Eleanor looked up at him, hopeful. "Iain?" She felt a profound sense of relief when she saw him nod.

"Iain Galen Cousland," he agreed. Then, reaching over Eleanor to touch his son, he whispered, "Welcome to our family, my son."


	14. Losses

_ As fair warning, I am trying to keep the Orlesians speaking in their native tongue whenever possible – my twelve years of French all those years ago must be good for something, right? At any rate, for those of you who do not read French, I have translated my intended meanings into the brackets/italicized print that follows each paragraph. These are the only meanings I have in mind. Unfortunately it has been over 20 years since I used French on a regular basis, so I have had to rely upon Google Translate to come up with the phrases I wanted. That being said, I know there will be idiomatic errors. If anyone sees anything glaring, please let me know and I will change it!_

_ As always, thanks to Erynnar for her never ending support and beta-ing skills. And to VioletTheirin for verifying my French! Merci beaucoup, mon amie! Both have fabulous stories that I highly recommend!_

___Bioware owns all but what I created._

_

* * *

_

Bryce, Eleanor and little Iain exited the Frostback Mountains four months after Iain's birth. The first month and more had been spent getting Eleanor healed and for both mother and father to learn how to live and take care of an infant. It had not been easy and there had been tears, but now it felt like old hat.

When they finally left the cave, their first "home" together as a family as Bryce had pointed out, it was with great reluctance.

As they traveled, Eleanor carried Iain, bound to her chest in a make-shift sling made out of some of the linens they still had. This way, Bryce's hands were ready to use his sword and shield should they need it.

They descended into the plains north of Lake Calenhad. It was strange, Bryce thought, that they were out of the mountains after spending almost an entire year there. To see the flatness of Ferelden, the gently rolling hills and valleys, was such a contrast.

He led Eleanor and his son to the northeast. He wanted to get to Highever soon because Maker only knew what his father thought had happened to him and his brother at White River. And if his father, who was in failing health to begin with, thought the worst …. Bryce shuddered at the thought. Best to just get there and determine the situation.

* * *

Bryce kept them to the rural areas as much as possible if only to be safe. They were nearing West Hill, having crossed the River Dane the day before, which now put them about three to four days out from Highever. They set up camp on the edge of a heavily forested area.

During the evening, Bryce remained awake, allowing Eleanor and Iain the chance to sleep. Given that the baby still relied on his mother for nourishment, Bryce insisted that he take the watch each evening.

He kept the fire low enough to provide just enough light to see where he was walking around the makeshift camp. They had no tent, relying on their bedrolls as their only cover. He had just finished a circuit and was taking a drink water when he heard a snap. Bryce spun around to face the origin of the sound. Kneeling beside Eleanor, he squeezed her shoulder then covered her lips with his fingers. "Prepare," was all he whispered to her. In the dim light, he saw her nod, shifting so that the sling she slipped over her shoulder could be shifted over the sleeping infant with little trouble.

Turning back towards the sound, Bryce stared out into the trees, searching. He thought he detected a pair of eyes glowing deeper in, but he couldn't tell for sure. _Maker,_ he prayed, _watch over us!_

_

* * *

_

"Mon Commandant! Mon Commandant!" [_Commander! Commander!]_

Bastien Desmarais strode out of his pavilion, one of his personal guards having alerted him to the soldier's return from patrol. "M'informez! Immédiatement!" he ordered harshly. [_Report at once!]_

The soldier, breathing harshly and leaning upon another for support, quickly gave his report. He provided the location, the conditions and the number contained within the party. "Mon Commandant, Je ne suis pas sûr que c'était ceux que vous cherchez. Il y avait un enfant ..." [_Commander, I don't think these are the people you are looking for. There is a baby…]_

Bastien's dark eyes flared. "Ce sont eux! L'enfant est leur semence pourrie!" he declared. "Au premier feu, nous les prendre!" [_It's them! And their rotten seed! At first light we get them!]_

The soldier, having caught his breath, protested, "Mais, Commandant, le bébé! Nous ne pouvons pas tuer un enfant!" [_But, Commander, the baby! We can't kill a child!]_

Bastien turned on the man, grabbing him by a handful of his hair and lifting him to his face. "Vous les tuer ou vous allez mourir avec eux!" he declared, turning to face the others who had gathered. "Aux armes!" [_You will kill them, or be killed with them! To arms!]_

_

* * *

_

The immediate threat having passed, Bryce and Eleanor packed up their meager camp and prepared to move on, preferring not to take any chances. Before light, they began to move.

Bryce led the way, Eleanor carrying Iain following behind. He had no idea which direction the danger would come from, so he made his best guess. They stopped about an hour later, in which Bryce took Iain while Eleanor caught her breath. They didn't speak, and thankfully, Iain remained quiet, preferring to coo softly at his father while grabbing up at his whiskered face.

Eleanor was about to whisper something to Bryce when she heard the noise. Shooting her gaze to Bryce's, she rose and grabbed her bag. Bryce had already turned. Holding his son to his chest with his right arm and grabbing Eleanor's hand with his left, he led them across the meadow. His instincts were screaming, _Run! Now!_ but he would not leave without his family.

Ducking and dodging, Bryce led them in the direction of the nearby woods. "When we get there," he choked out between breaths while running, "take Iain and _run_!"

Just before reaching the area, however, Eleanor fell. Bryce's first thought was that she had been hit. Pausing for just a moment, he leaned down to see that she had only slipped on the grass, wet with morning dew. As he stood back up, he began pushing her ahead of him. "Go -!"

Eleanor heard a sickening thunking sound of a crossbow bolt meeting splintmail armor. Turning, she knew she would find Bryce with an injury: At the same moment the bolt hit, she'd heard his grunt of pain. She began to turn, but heard him growl, "Run! Keep moving! We have to get away from them!"

Eleanor stumbled into the wooded area, now concerned by the fallen limbs and large rocks that became hazards as they traversed the area. Picking her way, she could hear Bryce lumbering behind her. "Where?" she hissed, looking around, afraid they were taking too much time and that the soldiers would catch up to them.

"Right," Bryce replied. "Go right."

Eleanor followed his advice, turning off to a cleared area to their right. She ducked branches, dodged larger rocks and bushes, and most importantly kept moving. Behind them, she was beginning to hear the Orlesian patrol approach. Glancing right and left she came to a sudden halt, feeling Bryce pull up behind her. She thought she heard …. "River?" she breathed. Bryce's breathing was more ragged than hers, and she suspected it was due to his wound.

"Head there," he groaned, pushing her ahead of him.

Eleanor kept moving, glancing back only once to reassure herself that Bryce and Iain were still following. She reached the river first, found that they were above it by several feet. There was no way to cross. Looking around furtively, she searched for some place to hide ….

"Bryce," she breathed when he pulled up next to her. Grabbing his hand, she pulled him to the left where a bank of trees and bushes was clustered together. It reminded her of the place where she had found him at White River.

She turned, looking for a response from Bryce but found him falling to his knees, groaning in pain. "Bryce!" she cried, dropping beside him. "We have to get to the …."

As she fell, she paled in shock until she looked as white as a freshly laundered linen sheet. He, too, was staring at the area of his wound ….

Reaching out tenderly, the Orlesian soldiers closing in on them, their world exploding around them, Eleanor felt her heart come to a stop. Gently taking her son's now lifeless body from his father's arms, she eased him away from the bolt which had penetrated through Bryce's shoulder with enough force to kill their son. Eleanor held the infant to her chest, hugging him close and rocking him, as she would of an evening after he had eaten or was being settled in for bed, and sobbed.

Bryce's grief was no less. The moment the bolt had hit him, he'd heard Iain's gasp as his young life was cut far shorter than it should have been. As he had urged Eleanor on through the forest, he had felt his world sliding away from him. Now, he looked at Eleanor beside him and saw the devastation in her eyes, knowing it matched his own. Then with a roar of anguish and pain unlike anything he had ever felt before, Bryce struggled to his feet, turned on the approaching enemy soldier, and started closing in for battle.

The Orlesian patrol that had begun the chase had been made up of six men. Now, in the woods, they had separated out, searching for their targets. As Bryce turned, he saw one of the men bursting out of the trees. He had obviously heard Bryce's cry and simply thought it was his war cry … until he took several steps closer and heard another similar outburst. He noticed the woman behind the warrior cradling an unresponsive infant, for no one old or young could survive a crossbow bolt to the head.

Eleanor gently laid her son aside, reaching for the daggers she always had upon her. Her cry echoing Bryce's, she stood and joined him.

The soldier who had happened upon them took a brief moment to evaluate the situation and make his decision. He halted his advance and lowered his weapons.

Bryce saw the man yielding, but, Maker forgive him, he simply did not care. He continued his movement forward, preparing to slaughter his opponent if necessary….

Eleanor, distraught beyond measure, reached out and grasped his arm. "No, Bryce!" she said forcefully. When he would have pulled away, she tried to use both hands to stop him, but he pulled away and grasped the man in front of him. Lifting the soldier, Bryce pinned him up against a large tree.

"Madame," the unit leader cried, struggling against Bryce, "c'était un accident! Nous n'aurions jamais mal à un enfant!" [_It was an accident! We would never harm a child!]_

Eleanor stepped next to Bryce, her heart breaking further at the look of utter defeat she found in his eyes. She caught his arm, ceasing his attempts to cut his opponent's breath. While attempting to push Bryce back, she told the Orlesian, "Nous quitter immédiatement ou je vais laisser l'attaquer!" [_Leave us immediately or we will attack!]_

Bryce felt the rage leaving him, slowly, at her touch. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the man he had pinned nodding furiously. Eleanor finally managed to get Bryce to release him. She was about to say something when the Orlesian told her, "Je vais leur dire que vous êtes mort. Si vous avez obtenu de cette façon vous pourrez échapper sans être inquiétés." He pointed to her left. [_I will tell them you are dead. If you go that way, you can escape without any trouble.]_

Eleanor nodded, stepping aside so he could leave. "Merci," she whispered. [_Thank you.]_

The soldier had barely cleared the trees when Bryce turned on her. "Why?" he choked out, pain vibrating with the word. "They killed our son, Ellie! Why will you not let me -?"

Eleanor felt a sharp pain as if a knife were stabbing her in the heart. When he tried to pull away from her touch, she refused to let him go. "My love," she choked out, for the first time calling him such, "I had two very good reasons! First, it was an accident! They were not intending to kill Iain, and I think you know this though you do not want to admit it." She waited in agony as he finally managed to break free from her touch, turning to stumble back to the motionless form of their son. "Bryce, he told me he would tell them we are dead! We will be able to flee without interference if we go that way!" She pointed the same direction as the Orlesian had indicated.

She did not see react to her words in any way whatsoever. "The second reason," she called out after him, "is that you are no cold-blooded murderer, Bryce Cousland! I will not let you destroy yourself that way when I can prevent it!"

Bryce could hear her words, but he still would not acknowledge them. Kneeling beside his son, reaching down to touch the child who had brought so much love and joy into his life, Bryce lifted him into his arms allowed himself to grieve.

Warily, Eleanor approached, kneeling across from him. She waited, grieving silently with him, praying inwardly … _Maker, why? Why would you give me something so special only to take him away so quickly?_ And in a part of her mind, she wondered to which of them she was referring.

Bryce felt as if he were sinking into himself. _What do I do now?_ he asked. _What kind of man am I if I cannot even keep my family safe?_

The air around them remained still and silent, the only thing that could be heard were their sobs of grief … and the heavy sounds of guilt falling on shoulders of parents' who had only wanted to love ….


	15. Challenges

_Thanks as always to my fans, readers, reviewers and for setting your favs and alerts! You humble me so much!_

_Thanks to Erynnar and VioletTheirin for being my content and French betas for this story! Maker only knows how I can remember enough French after all of these years to come up with what I do!_

_Bioware owns it all ... I'm just adjusting it to suit my needs!_

* * *

Bryce and Eleanor had no way of knowing whether the soldier's promise to tell the Orlesian, _Le Loup Garou, _that they were dead would be kept, so they continued on in a desperate attempt to put miles between themselves and their enemy. Eleanor simply fell in behind Bryce as they traveled, allowing her body to go numb and make the ever increasing pain in her heart bearable.

After they fleeing several miles from the skirmish site, Bryce led Eleanor to a small wooded area where they were able to find enough wood and a small clearing in order to have a private funeral for Iain. They spent most of a day at the site, grieving, mostly separately, and when the pyre had burned down and cooled, they took some of the ashes with them in order to have a proper memorial at a later date, at Highever.

Bryce knelt beside the pyre, watching it burn, watching as his son faded from his life. _I have failed you, my son_, he thought. _I pray to the Maker that you are at peace and will forgive your father for not protecting you better…._

Eleanor was nearby, but not too close to Bryce. He had made it clear in her mind that he did not want her near him. _My darling boy,_ she thought. _You brought so much happiness to us in the short time you were a part of our small family! I pray the Maker has mercy to give you back the joy you gave us. Sweet Andraste, please keep him near you and watch over him. He is a special one …._

Over the following days, of the few words that Bryce and Eleanor exchanged, most of them revolved around their traveling plans. "We'll head towards Amaranthine," Bryce finally announced. "The Arl is a personal friend. He will help us."

Now as they slowly made their way towards Amaranthine, and Bryce continued to withdraw from her, Eleanor began to feel as if all hope for salvaging their relationship might be lost. He wouldn't talk to her, other than a grunt of agreement or disagreement, and soon she began to stop even trying. She had her own pain to worry about, pain that was beginning to surpass the numbness she had initially welcomed, as well as her own fears and grief.

When they arrived at the Arl's estate at Amaranthine, Eleanor was relieved. She followed Bryce into the keep's courtyard, and watched from a distance as he reunited with his friend, Arl Rendon Howe.

"Bryce!" Howe greeted him in surprise, moving to give him a warrior's greeting. "I had thought you dead when I heard nothing from you after White River! Thank the Maker you are still with us! Maric and Loghain will be beside themselves with relief!"

Bryce managed a rueful chuckle. "Much has happened since White River, Rendon," he told the man. Reaching behind him, he took Eleanor's hand and pulled her forward. "Rendon, this is Eleanor Muir."

"Muir?" Howe mused for a moment, glancing off in the distance as if recalling a memory. "Would you happen to be Bann Galen's daughter?"

Eleanor nodded slowly. "Yes, my lord," she replied. She was getting an uneasy feeling speaking with this man, but she really had no choice as Bryce had pulled her into the conversation. That and she did not want to embarrass him by being rude.

Rendon quickly waved his hands and said, "No, no. Please, do not stand on ceremony with me, dear lady!" He saw her smile ever so slightly. "Please, both of you, come inside. Bryce, you and I, we have much to catch up on, and you have arrived just in time. Maric has sent an … emissary, if you will, to assist us in the Rebellion. We have another mission, my friend, and you are just in time to partake in the … festivities."

Bryce stepped forward then, moving in next to his friend as they walked indoors, Rendon talking the entire way. Eleanor felt bereft as they left her behind. Moving quickly after them, she followed them indoors. In the entryway, she was met by a lovely young woman dressed in armor, who stepped forward. "You must be Eleanor, yes?"

Eleanor nodded. _Orlesian._ "Yes," she replied a bit warily.

The woman reached out a hand in greeting. Giving Eleanor a warrior's greeting, she announced, "I am Marianne Desmarais. As I am sure you have noticed, I am Orlesian." She watched the Ferelden woman nod. Smiling, she continued, "It is fortunate for you and your country then that I am on the side of the Rebellion."

Eleanor felt … fuzzy, her head spinning, her mind whirling. Marianne must have sensed this because she stepped forward and slid an arm around the younger woman. "Bah! But that is a story for another time, yes? Right now we should perhaps get you upstairs," Marianne suggested as she began leading Eleanor towards the staircase, "where you can bathe and rest. You are exhausted, yes?"

Eleanor almost broke into tears right then and there. "Yes!"

Marianne smiled in understanding. "Come then, cherie, we shall get you into a bath, then food and then rest." She led Eleanor down the hallway to a room with a bath waiting for her use. Marianne had heard their arrival and suspected that such would be necessary so she had called upon the servants to make the preparations. "Do you need assistance, cherie? Or can you manage on your own?"

Eleanor took one step towards the tub and collapsed to her knees, sobbing. Marianne motioned to the servant in the room to leave. Kneeling beside the Eleanor, Marianne pulled the girl close for a warm hug of friendship and a shoulder to cry upon. "There, there," she murmured, rocking slowly, rubbing Eleanor's back. "All will be well. You have traveled far, yes? Let me assist you."

Eleanor could not say later exactly what had happened, but she ended up in a tub filled with warm water and bath salts, bathed, fed and in a comfortable bed before the day was out. The moment that her dark head hit the pillow, she was unconscious.

Bryce, on the other hand, found himself closeted with his friend for much of the remainder of the day. Rendon had indeed been correct in his information regarding the coincidental timing of his arrival. A short time later, a young Orlesian woman joined the two men. Bryce greeted her one warrior to another as she introduced herself.

"We are most grateful for your safe return," Marianne told him. "I hope you will pardon me for my tardiness. I escorted your friend upstairs so that she could clean up and get some rest. The poor thing was utterly exhausted."

Bryce belatedly remembered Eleanor … and felt the guilt beginning to suffocate him. He had not done right by her, he knew. But now that he had reached this stage, he was unsure of what he could do to right things. How do you return to the man you were before, the man Eleanor deserved, when you can't even protect your own family?

* * *

The days spent at Amaranthine began passing with increasing speed. Bryce and Eleanor had been there for two weeks when one evening, Bryce found himself standing at the balcony off of his room that overlooked the courtyard below. The sun had set only a short time before, and there was still a hint of daylight through the trees … just enough for the last stragglers of the day to scurry inside before the evening meal would be served in the great hall.

Behind him, he heard the soft knock at the door, but he ignored it. He wasn't interested in company at the moment. His mind was too busy processing what he'd seen that afternoon.

_Rendon, Bryce, Eleanor and Marianne were out riding, Rendon giving them a guided tour of Amaranthine's estate that he had inherited upon his father's death several years before. At one point, they stopped to walk the horses, to give the animals a rest, and Bryce soon discovered himself confronted with what he had been trying to avoid since their arrival at Amaranthine: Rendon Howe was clearly interested in Eleanor. _

_After wandering off away from the horses, now tethered to some trees to allow their riders some time to explore their surroundings, Bryce turned back to find Rendon maneuvering Eleanor away from the horses in the other direction. That the man had the gall to do this with Bryce around did not occur to Bryce. His focus was upon Eleanor and her reactions, for he knew from his own personal experience that Eleanor was a force to be reckoned with. She would not stand for something if she truly disliked it …._

_Bryce soon came upon Marianne who spoke softly to him, engaging his attention for just a moment regarding some of the local foliage, and when his gaze found Eleanor once more, Rendon was pulling her into his arms and whispering near her ear … and Eleanor seemed to be enjoying herself …._

_Bryce could only stand there for a long moment, thunderstruck. _I have lost her_, he realized in that moment. She was not refusing Rendon's touch or his conversation. She had a smile upon her face, the first he had seen in weeks …. Bryce sighed and turned away, his battle lost…._

Bryce was startled from his thoughts … first by the scent of honeysuckle, and then by the brush of a petite figure moving to his side. Smiling in amusement, if only to himself, he glanced down. Long dark auburn curls that almost reached her waist, golden brown eyes … and a soft gentle smile that could melt even the hardest of hearts. "Bon soir, cheri," Marianne murmured. "I hope you do not mind my … how is it you called it earlier this afternoon? … My 'pressing the issue' yes?" She observed he did not seem upset by her presence, so she added, "As your door was locked, and I was concerned given the … events of the day, I … 'helped' your door open. I hope you do not mind." She glanced up at him. "Are you faring better this evening?"

Bryce actually chuckled, his thoughts drifting back to the conversation they had. "You are persistent," he agreed with a warm smile. "And to answer your question: No, I do not mind. As for feeling better …." He allowed his words to drift off before he gestured out to the scenery in front of them. Turning his attention back to her, he attempted to brighten the mood by saying, "How can I take exception when such beauty only adds to the surroundings and brightens my day even as it turns to night?" Bryce's breath caught as he watched the smile on her face grow, the laughter bubble up and out into some of the most delightful sounds he had ever heard.

Marianne's cheeks were now flushed with delight. "You are such a charmer, Bryce Cousland," she responded. She then ducked her head slightly and added, "But I do appreciate the compliment."

They stood there for a few moments, in companionable silence, staring out as the night darkened. Finally, Marianne turned and asked, "Were you going to join us for dinner this evening? We will be discussing final preparations for the mission. You should be there with us."

Bryce sighed. He knew that Rendon would be there, and Eleanor at his side, he supposed after today's events. How could he face them, knowing that he still loved her, knowing that he didn't deserve her, knowing that he had lost her through his own fault ….

Marianne slid an arm through his, glancing up at his face. _Ah! So that is the way of things!_ she thought. _Your pain is so deep, my friend! No one should have to go through that, nor go through that alone …._ "Come," she insisted.

Bryce shook his head, releasing her arm. "I cannot, Marianne," he told her, enjoying the feel of her unfamiliar name on his tongue. "I think I shall stay here … and rest."

Marianne followed him back into his room. "Non, cheri," she insisted. "You must face your demons." She watched as he stopped walking, turning slowly to face her, the most incredulous look upon his face. Smiling, she stepped up next to him. "Do you think me blind, Bryce? Do you think I cannot see what it is you are feeling?"

Bryce frowned. "But …," he protested.

"Bah!" she exclaimed, swatting the air as if she was shooing away an unwanted fly. "The longer you hide from yourself, from your demons, mon ami, the longer it takes to get over them. Trust me, I have first-hand experience at this!" She watched the expressions crossing his face, one at a time, until all that remained was … hope. "Yes," she said softly, looking up into his eyes, "that is more like it. It is a battle, non? Like the one we plan against _Le Loup Garou_? Strategy is what is required. Tactics are necessary. But," she added, her voice dropping and sounding more conspiratorial, "you have an advantage over your 'enemy' as it were, non?"

Bryce was startled. "An advantage? What do you mean?" Her smile sent chills down his spine.

"You have an ally in your campaign!" she announced matter-of-factly. She gestured him to the bed, made him sit while she paced around the room, and she began to outline her suggested strategy. "We will begin tonight at dinner …."


	16. Reunited

_ Thanks to all who have read, favorited, reviewed and set alerts for this story! I'm so glad to have you along for my adventure … rapidly becoming my favorite of my writings, and that's saying quite a bit!_

_ Thanks as always to Erynnar and VioletTheirin for their assists as betas! Ladies, I owe you big time! You are awesome!_

_ As always, Bioware owns it all and I just get to mess around with it …._

_

* * *

_

Bryce led Marianne out into the courtyard of the keep at Amaranthine. The day was sunny, the air crisp and clean. And everything seemed ….

Marianne held his arm, leaning close every once in a while, murmuring softly so that Bryce would have to lean down to hear her. She kept an eye on their surroundings as they walked, observing everything: the soldiers as they trained, the servants as they hustled about … Eleanor from the window as she watched the couple walking, her emerald gaze shooting daggers at them. This last made Marianne giggle, as it was the exact reaction she was hoping for. "Bryce," she said softly.

"Yes, my dear?" he replied, hoping that her earlier instructions to refer to her as such would not completely ruin his relationship with Eleanor as he feared they might.

"Pretend I have just said something incredibly witty, and laugh!"

From her position inside the keep, Eleanor watched Bryce and Marianne as they strolled by. _He certainly seems to be enjoying himself_, she thought a bit viciously as she observed him laughing at the Orlesian. Closing her eyes for a brief moment, she managed to fight back her tears. _Where did we go so wrong?_ she wondered. _When did it become so … unfixable between us?_

The couple turned the corner shortly thereafter, wandering out of Eleanor's sight. a part of her wanted to go after them, to smack the Orlesian tart (as she thought of her) and tell her to find her own man … but she knew she couldn't do that, not after what had happened between Bryce and herself.

Turning back in to the room, Eleanor crossed into the main dining area where she could find a seat at one of the many tables. She felt miserable. Yes, most of it was due to her grief at the loss of her son. But she also grieved for the loss of her … _husband_. Though their ritual had been private and not endorsed by the Chantry, Eleanor had felt it was real enough. He had introduced her as Eleanor Muir … using her father's name instead of his own. _Does he hate me that much?_ she couldn't help but wonder.

"Ah, there you are, my dear!"

Eleanor cringed inwardly. _Damn the man! Why won't he leave me alone?_ she wondered. Plastering on a smile, she turned towards Rendon Howe and greeted him. "Good day, … Rendon," she greeted, struggling over his name when she wanted to choke on it. _Manners, Eleanor_, she could hear Nan chiding, referring to the lessons they had suffered through as children. _Manners!_

Howe lifted her hand to her lips, oblivious to the wince that passed over her face. "The day is beautiful out, and as we are to soon be on the road campaigning, I thought you might join me for a walk? What do you think of that?"

Eleanor swallowed hard and counted to ten before she replied. This man would not give up! "I am so very sorry, Rendon," she murmured. "Please, I have not been feeling well since the nooning meal. Might our walk wait for another day perhaps? As we are to leave soon, I think I should perhaps rest this afternoon …."

Howe could not conceal his disappointment. "My dear, I am sorry," he told her, sounding genuinely concerned, but Eleanor could read his features better than that. "Perhaps an evening stroll, after supper?"

Sighing inwardly, Eleanor nodded. "Perhaps."

With a smile, and a lascivious looking one at that Howe gave her a slight bow, kissed her hand once more and said, "I hope to find you in better spirits this evening then, my dear." And with that, he turned and headed towards the large front doors to the keep.

Eleanor turned quickly, in case the despicable man should decide to return, and headed towards the stairs. She realized her thoughts were taking her where she did not want to be at the moment. Depression was for milksops, for women who relied on men for their whole existence, for …. She stopped in the middle of ascending the stairs to her room. _For women like me who love their husbands and it is not returned…._ With a sob, Eleanor ran the rest of the way to her room, closing herself inside and sinking to the floor.

* * *

Marianne found Eleanor several evenings later in the library, alone and staring at the book she pretended to read. _Ah, cherie!_ she cried inwardly. _Stop this utter foolishness and face your destiny!_ Entering the room quietly she was not surprised to see Eleanor's gaze turn and find hers. With a friendly smile, Marianne observed, "Your senses are quite attuned to your surroundings."

Eleanor's eyes closed to mere slits. "You will find I am full of surprises," she replied.

Marianne chose the seat next to the woman rather than across from her. "Of that, cherie, I have no doubt." Adjusting her position in the chair, she continued, "But there are some things, I think, that you are … missing, yes?"

Eleanor had no desire to speak with this woman who had all but publicly staked her claim upon Bryce several evenings before, but it appeared that the Maker was not giving her a choice this evening. "Really?" she challenged.

Marianne leaned forward, a glint forming behind her caramel colored eyes. "Are you sure you are ready for such an evaluation, cherie?" she purred. "You have been through much in the past – what has it been now, almost two years? I would make sure that you could stand the process before initiating it."

Eleanor frowned. "What could you possibly know about what has happened to me … unless Bryce has already told you!"

Marianne's had darted out as Eleanor prepared to bolt to her feet to go and challenge Bryce. Momentarily stunned by the quickness with which the other woman could move and the strength in her hand, Eleanor sat back without protest. Turning to face the girl in front of her, Marianne caught the green gaze with her own. "Bryce did not tell me," she said firmly, squeezing Eleanor's arm. "He did not need to tell me. I could see it in his eyes … as I see it in _your own_ …."

Eleanor's eyes widened in shock. "Wh-what do you mean?"

Marianne's smile held sympathy … and encouragement. "In my life I have learned how to read people," she said simply. "More than once it has saved my life … or theirs…."

Eleanor could not tear her gaze from Marianne. "Are … are you an assassin?"

Marianne giggled, causing her to look and sound much younger than her years. "Non, cherie," she replied with an impish grin, "_that_ I am glad to say I am not!" She stared at Eleanor a long moment, her amber eyes perusing the Ferelden thoughtfully. Then, sitting back once more, Marianne nodded. "Ahh! I see!" she exclaimed. "You think I am interested in … _seducing_ your man!"

Eleanor could not help the blush that spread rapidly. "N-no …!"

Marianne smiled. "Do not deny the truth of your feelings, cherie, for that is almost as difficult as denying your existence." Pointing to her eyes, Marianne continued, "Your love can be seen here. And if you would simply look beyond your own pain, your own fears, you would see his as well."

The room was silent save for the echo of Eleanor's gasp. "Cherie, the man loves you of that there is no doubt," Marianne insisted, pushing as far as she could against the walls Eleanor had constructed around her heart. "He loves you enough to let you go if that is your wish." This last was a whisper.

Eleanor felt a sob course through her and was surprised by its strength. She felt gentle arms surround her quickly, holding her, foreign words she could vaguely understand giving her comfort and allowing her peace of mind for the first time since her son's tragic death.

Marianne glanced up at the doorway then and saw two men standing there. She gestured one inside with a beckoning motion, and promptly shooed the other away.

Bryce neared the two women slowly. He and Rendon had overheard the last bit of the conversation and Bryce now knew what he needed to know. Kneeling in front of Eleanor, Bryce pulled her into his arms and simply held her, offering her his shoulder, his warmth, his strength, such as it was. Together they grieved for the son they had lost, for the long weeks of pain and confusion, and for the chance they had just been given, by the Maker and an Orlesian ex-patriot, to try again.

Marianne left the couple alone with their emotions, pausing only to give Bryce an affectionate squeeze upon his shoulder as she did so. She wandered out of the room and to the right, knowing that _he_ would be waiting for her.

"I could have you killed for interfering and no one would be any wiser," Howe hissed in her ear, a dagger at her throat as he snuck up behind her slender frame.

"And you would die with me!" she returned fiercely while spinning out of his grasp, her dagger wiggling at his waistline to show him his weakness. He released her, shoving her from him with a hiss of frustration, emphasizing her opinion that he was a snake. "You should not interfere with the Maker's plans!" she warned him.

"The Maker has no control over me and my plans, girl!"

"_These_ are not your plans to control!" she challenged while gesturing in the direction of the library. "Your _only_ plans should be for capturing _Le Loup Garou_ for Maric. Don't meddle where you should not be!"

Suddenly, Marianne was reminded of an encounter several days before ….

_The library was silent save for the occasional brush of fabric against very old books. Marianne grimaced at the amount of dust layered upon the multitude of tomes. _Does no one read in this household?_ she wondered incredulously. So many wonderful volumes, and none of them touched in … ages?_

_She was deep in the stacks when she heard the sound of voices entering the room. Slowly lowering herself to the floor, she crept to the end of the aisle, wondering if she would be able to leave without anyone noticing …._

"_You do realize of course," Howe was saying in that oily, slippery way that he had about him, "that Bryce would never consider marrying you given that your father's … position is so minor as to barely even register on a teyrn's level."_

_Eleanor was silent, her features subdued. _

"_However," he continued almost immediately, presumably not expecting a response, "a man in _my_ position does not have to be so … discriminatory." He stopped walking and turned to face her. Noting a stray lock of hair falling into her eyes, he reached up to tuck the recalcitrant strand behind her ear. As he did, his eyes followed his fingers, digits that lingered as they traced the outer edge of her ear._

_From her position in the stacks, Marianne could see Eleanor flinch at the man's touch. _Ahhh, so that's how it is, is it?_ she realized. _If that is the case ….

_Marianne was about to step forward when she noticed Howe moving forward, almost as if he was herding Eleanor backwards, towards one of the bookcases. Then she heard him saying, "A woman as beautiful as you should find comfort in a real man, not some spoiled teyrn's son."_

_Alarm bells began going off in Marianne's head and she could see Eleanor's gaze glancing furtively around for something … a weapon, a way out …? Then the younger woman's gaze found hers …_

"_Excuse me, my lord?" Marianne called out, stepping out of the stacks._

_Howe growled beneath his breath, obviously disgusted by the interruption. "What is it?" he demanded before turning around quickly and spotting the Orlesian. "Oh, it's you."_

_Marianne gave him her most winsome smile. Nodding, and letting Eleanor know at the same time it was safe to leave, she queried, "I wondered if you might be able to assist me? I've found a book that I cannot reach … would you be able to help?"_

_Howe glanced over his shoulder, and cursed beneath his breath as he realized Eleanor had fled. Marianne knew she had to tread very carefully here. Playing coy, she batted her eyelashes and said, "Please?"_

_Howe stormed over to the aisle with her following. She pointed out some random book on one of the upper shelves which sent him reaching for the stepladder. Moments later, he dropped the book into her hands. "Merci bien, my lord!" Marianne told him, bowing slightly at him before turning to leave the room._

_As she exited, she almost ran into one of Howe's soldiers who was rushing into the room. "Oh!" she exclaimed with false alarm. "Pardon me!"_

"_Outta my way, wench!" he muttered._

_Marianne stepped aside, watching as the door closed behind her. Frowning, she stepped up to it and placed her ear to the wood. "Next time I manage to get the Muir woman alone, make sure that Orlesian bitch is not around!" Stepping back, Marianne turned and left. This man definitely needed watching._

Now, Marianne watched the gleam of pure rage and hatred that filled his features. She knew then that she must warn Bryce and Eleanor at the first opportunity to watch out for this man. That he was pure evil, was assured in her mind.

Howe spat at her. "You should not be meddling, you Orlesian trollop! I don't know what game you are playing with Maric and Loghain, but I _will_ get what I want!"

Marianne allowed her look to match his: hatred, disgust, bitterness, … malevolence. All were there. "Be careful, cheri," she drawled out, deliberately taunting him with the term of endearment, "for you know not of what you speak. Your should-be king has entrusted me with a mission that only _I _can accomplish. If you wish him to be successful in his aims so that you can remain in his good graces, and receive the credit, the honor, the … acclaim you so desire, …."

Marianne watched the man swallow his words, turning to leave. _Bâtard!_ she thought as she continued towards her rooms. _Vous êtes pas mieux que Batien!_ [_Bastard! You're no better than Bastien!]_

Once in her rooms, Marianne removed her armor and weapons, preferring something a bit more comfortable this evening. She chose a pair of leggings and an oversized shirt, liking the caress of leather and linen against her skin. Moving to a nearby window, she stared out into the evening sky, reflecting back upon what had occurred in the library instead of her encounter with Howe. _Ah, maman, papa … you would have liked this pair, I think,_ she mused. _One day soon, Maker willing, we shall be together again …._

_

* * *

_

Later that evening, there was a soft knock at Marianne's door. But for her rogue training, she might never have heard it. Approaching quietly, she called through the door, "Yes? What is it?"

"Marianne, please let us in!" Bryce called softly.

Marianne opened the door immediately, ushering her friend inside, and noting that he was not alone. Turning towards a now smiling Eleanor, Marianne asked, "Ah, cherie! I can see that things are now … improving for you, yes? Will you please accept my apologies for the deception? I felt it would be the only way to make you face your own emotions."

Eleanor blushed, but nodded. With a glance up at Bryce, she saw him smiling at her and she straightened, feeling a bit more secure in her position. While they still had things to work out, emotions that would need time to heal, the misunderstanding between them was well on its way to being healed. "I … I wished to thank you," she stammered after a moment. Glancing down at her hands, she was about to say something else when she saw the other woman's hands take hers.

"Nonsense!" Marianne said softly with a smile. She reached out and took one of Bryce's hands in hers as well, placing it over Eleanor's. "You both have been through much, yes? Non, non," she hurried on, waving her other hand at them, "do not deny it. I can see in your eyes you have suffered much. The details are not necessary to understand such pain."

Releasing their hands, Marianne turned away and wandered across the room a ways. Sighing, she added, "I have been, well, blessed or cursed, depending upon your point of view," she admitted, "with the ability to read people well. Certain members of my … family taught me that skill well." She swallowed hard, managing to get past the ever increasing lump in her throat. Turning back to face them, she smiled, sadly but still smiled, and told them, "I am glad my skills could help where they were needed most."

Marianne shook her head as if removing cobwebs from her head. "Now then," she exclaimed, "shall we discuss something more … pleasant? Hmm?" She turned towards Eleanor. "Have you been briefed yet upon our mission?"

Eleanor shook her head. "No …."

With a grin, Marianne gestured them into the room over to a large table that was covered with maps and papers. "Please, come over here. I will show you what the goal is and our intended plans."


	17. On the Road

_I realized I had become very remiss in my shoutouts and would like to thank the following for setting alerts, favs and reading and reviewing as well as my many other readers: Serra Terranova, Archer Nerd, demonsshade, Erynnar, VioletTheirin, Piceron, Forestnymphe, Kuroi Akuryou, Luz SheChameleon, ProsePrincess, Snafu1000, Trevilliana Darkmoon, Vylreth, Ash The Brave, Auranara, Cogitoergosumsolus, Deloris, Elizabeth Carter, MireliAmbar, Hirdas, Miri1984, Wyolake and Zute. You guys keep my creative juices flowing and have turned what I thought would be a simple story into something much, much more! I thank you all so very much and hope you continue to enjoy the story!_

_I would also like to thank my ever faithful and very dear friends Erynnar and VioletTheirin for their skills and talents as my content betas. Ladies, you rock my socks and I enjoy all of our discussions! I truly do not know what I would do without you!_

_As always, Bioware owns it all… I'm just playing with it!_

_

* * *

_

They had been on the road for over a week. The overall leader of their venture was Marianne, as she had orders directly from Maric. She had placed Bryce as her second, which more than annoyed Rendon Howe, she knew, but she could not trust the man. Knowing that their success depended upon people she could trust, she could make no other decision.

She found Eleanor at the fire one evening making the meal preparations near the main campfire. Taking a seat beside her friend, she began assisting as she could. With a smile, Eleanor began speaking softly with her new friend. "I hope you don't mind a simple Ferelden meal."

Marianne's laughter was light. With a grin, she replied, "I should hope not! I have been in your country for fifteen years, and I would not have survived long if I had!"

Eleanor's smile widened. "You've been here for fifteen years? Were you born here? You don't look a day over twenty yourself!"

Marianne's laugh was deeper, fuller this time. "Ah, cherie," she murmured, "you are ever the charmer like your man, yes?" Her grin broadened and she watched Eleanor blush slightly. Reaching over, she patted the younger woman's arm. "Perhaps I should tell you a bit about myself, yes? Bryce, for all the discussions we have had, does not even know of my background, of why this mission was given to me by your king …."

Eleanor glanced over at Bryce, standing on the other side of the camp and finishing a discussion with the captain of the soldiers on this mission with them. When he turned, she caught his attention as she waved him over. "Please join us, cheri," Marianne invited as she turned towards him. "I was beginning to tell your lovely lady here about my importance to this mission."

Bryce smiled and took a seat beside Eleanor who handed him a cup of something hot to drink. "By all means," he said. "This is a story I have been waiting to hear for a while now."

Marianne smiled and began to think back, traveling the distance of over fifteen years. "Let me begin by confirming the obvious: I was born in Orlais, in the area of Val Foret. My mother, you see, was the daughter of a minor noble, and she married the son of another minor noble. They were very happy together and as a result produced two daughters: myself and my younger sister, Sylvaine."

Eleanor watched as Marianne's gaze seemed to focus on her, but she soon realized that the other woman was simply looking into her past, not really seeing what she was facing.

"We were one small happy family, two little girls growing up, learning to be noble daughters, the usual." Marianne's voice paused for a long moment. "When I was seven, however, our lives changed."

Bryce watched the woman rise to her feet, begin pacing around them, the fire. It was clear she was reaching a difficult stage in the telling of her story. He glanced at Eleanor who also seemed to be concerned.

Marianne stopped suddenly, spinning around to face them once more, her long dark curls (presently unbound due to their having made camp for the night) whipping around her face in an agitated state. Kneeling, now closer to Bryce and Eleanor, she said in a quiet voice, "When I was seven, my father was called into service to the Emperor. He was sent off to fight … where, I do not know, and I never learned from my mother or anyone else." Her eyes closed, pain momentarily hidden from her companions, but when the lids opened once more, though carefully hidden, Eleanor could still see it. After all of the sorrow and anguish that she and Bryce had been through recently, she could recognize it in her friend all too easily.

Marianne smiled gently, though it was obviously not complete. "My father was killed … not in battle, but by another knight, a chevalier. I never heard why, but later I began to suspect …." She emitted a laugh filled with irony. "Well," she added, "we will get to that a bit later. Suffice it to say that my father was killed, and my mother, my sister and I were devastated."

Eleanor reached out to squeeze Marianne's hand in sympathy.

Marianne smiled at Eleanor, nodding in appreciation. "Some months later, after whatever battle or war or whatever it was had ended, the troops returned. My sister and I watched as common soldiers, chevaliers … everyone returned, for they marched through Val Foret on their way to Val Royeaux. One man stopped, spoke with my mother, though my sister and I could not hear. Maman was …," Marianne sighed, struggling to find the word she wanted. "She was upset, but not in a bad way? Does this make sense?"

Bryce and Eleanor nodded. "Bittersweet?" Eleanor murmured.

Marianne's fingers snapped, and she grinned, for a moment losing the pain from her features. "That is the word!" she exclaimed. "Maman was conflicted, you see, for as Sylvaine and I found out later, the man had brought her a message from the man who had killed our father. This man, a chevalier himself, had seen my mother, apparently had known her from years before, and had always been affronted by the fact that she had married my father instead of him. I always have suspected, though I was never able to prove, that he murdered my father simply to get his wife." Marianne shrugged. "Unfortunately, the beliefs of a seven year old child mean nothing to anyone, least of all her mother …."

When Marianne rose to her feet again, Bryce stood with her. He grasped her arm, pulling her to sit between himself and Eleanor. That the woman was in need of friendship at the moment, there was no doubt. But he also sensed that she needed more than that, and he hoped that both he and Eleanor could provide her with the sense of peace for which she seemed to be searching.

Marianne was startled at first, but instinctually knew what Bryce and Eleanor were about. She gave them each a warm smile of thanks before continuing. "The chevalier, one Thiérry Desmarais, married my mother soon thereafter. She never protested, he never bothered to allow her to follow proper protocol in mourning her husband. Upon their marriage, he adopted me and my sister … and for a time things were fine. He seemed nice enough, was pleasant, didn't bother with us unless Sylvaine or I were misbehaving. Until Bastien was born a year later."

Eleanor caught on before Bryce did, her entire body stiffening. "Bastien Desmarais?" she breathed in horror.

Marianne closed her eyes, her shame flooding her tanned skin with a blush red enough to cause alarm at the deepness of the color. "Yes, cherie, _Le Loup Garou_, is my younger brother."

Bryce felt his breath catch in his chest. A feeling of complete and utter shock washing through him. _The man who killed my brother, murdered so many of our soldiers; the monster who has been chasing Eleanor and myself ever since White River …_, his heart broke at the next thought, _the same man responsible for the death of our son … HE is Marianne's brother?_

At the sound of Bryce's gasp, Marianne opened her eyes once more and exchanged a quick look with Eleanor. In silent agreement, she nodded at the younger woman. Quickly, they changed places, Eleanor moving as close to Bryce as he would let her. She slid arms around him, whispered things near his ear that only he could hear, but Marianne still saw the things she had feared: anger, disgust, outrage ….

Bryce felt the road his emotional response was turning him towards, heard the words Eleanor was whispering to him, pleading with him …. The moment he saw Marianne begin to turn, he leapt to his feet and grabbed her by the upper arm. He felt her freeze but not struggle. "Don't go," he choked out. "I – please," he begged, dropping his hand. "I know you are not responsible for your brother's actions …."

Marianne turned towards him, stepped to his side and leaned up to kiss his cheek. "You are a better friend than I deserve, Bryce Cousland," she told him, "for had I been through what you and Eleanor have, I do not think I could feel the same."

Eleanor rose to her feet, standing on Bryce's other side, his arm around her. "You are not your brother," Eleanor insisted. "We cannot hold you responsible for him or his actions. _He _is the one who must be held accountable." Then, tilting her head, she added, "Besides, you just told me earlier you've been here for over fifteen years. As I understood it, your brother did not arrive in Ferelden until just about five years ago …?"

Marianne nodded, sitting on the hard ground once more. "No. Sylvaine and I … we left Orlais much earlier than Bastien…."


	18. Realizations

_Thanks to my readers, fans, lurkers and everyone else for reading, reviewing, faving and alerting! You amaze me and humble me all at once!_

_Thanks everlasting to my betas - Erynnar and VioletTheirin - for content, for the French connection - for everything really. Your support and friendship knows no bounds and truly inspires me in my writing! Thank you!_

_And (as if we need reminding) Bioware owns all that isn't mine ..._

* * *

Their hunt was taking longer than expected. They had now been on the road for over three months in search of _Le Loup Garou_, and though they had not seen a trace of him or his men as of yet, they all knew he was out there. By day they traveled and hunted him. By night, they rested and Marianne would regale Eleanor and Bryce with stories of her past. Tonight, she was recounting her departure from Orlais.

But in the background, always in the background Marianne noticed, Howe lurked. Listening, remembering, the man was never far away, ever reminding her of what she had done against him, as did the couple sitting with her and listening intently to her stories.

Seated near the fire, Marianne rested against a log at her back for support while drinking a hot cup of tea. The night was chilly, and she knew seasons would soon be turning. "I was nearing seventeen when I discovered that Bastien's father was not at all what he seemed," she told them. "Bastien was about, oh, I guess ten at the time, Sylvaine nearing sixteen. My mother, Maker rest her soul, had seemingly given up on life. At the time, I did not quite understand. All I knew is that she would go about her day in a daze, barely paying any attention to her surroundings, the people around her. It finally became too much for Thiérry, and he began looking elsewhere for his … entertainment."

Eleanor could tell by the flatness of Marianne's tone that the man had come after her. Shuddering, she asked in a soft voice, "What did you do?"

Marianne shrugged, but faced her friend. "What could I do?" she countered. "The man was a giant, almost twice my size. He managed to get his way. After a while though, he began looking towards Sylvaine too." The look on the Orlesian's face was one of pure hatred. "I did not like what he did to me, but I was not going to allow him the opportunity to harm my sister as well!" she spat out. "I had continued my training, the skills that my father had taught me years before. One night, as Thiérry came at me, I pulled out my dagger, one I had placed beneath my apron, and I stabbed him with it."

Bryce nodded, watching the woman closely. "A dagger is not much against a man that large," he observed.

Marianne nodded. "That is truer than you know, cheri. I was, however, able to disable him … I discovered much later just how accurate my aim had been. You see," she explained, "I managed to cripple him, he lost use of his legs, for life."

"What did your mother say?" asked Eleanor.

Smiling ruefully, Marianne replied, "For once my mother acted. She came out of her dazed state, with all the commotion being made by her husband, she pushed me towards my room, she urged me to pack up and leave. I said I would not leave without Sylvaine, for I knew he would simply take her in my stead. Maman agreed, and while we packed quickly, she managed to put together a sack of food for us, a few coins she had saved." Marianne gestured towards her belt. "My father's sword. Maman urged us to come to Ferelden, to find a place to settle, to start our lives again. She had a cousin in Denerim, she told us, who would be willing to assist us."

Eleanor and Bryce shared a glance. "That could not have been easy," Eleanor said. "It is a very long way between Val Foret and Denerim."

Marianne chuckled. "No, cherie, it was not easy at all. Sylvaine and I were on foot. We were on the road for days before we met up with a merchant caravan near Verechiel that was headed towards Ferelden. One of the merchants was kind enough to allow us to travel with him. We became fast, if careful, friends. As we traveled, I would assist the guards in protecting the caravan, Sylvaine would ride with Gerard, the merchant. I became quite skilled with my bow, a weapon with which I had always had great affinity." She smiled at the memory. "And, for a time, despite the desperation of our situation, things were actually quite … good."

Eleanor rose and refilled their mugs with fresh tea. Marianne nodded her appreciation and continued with her story. "We traveled across the border into Ferelden, along the Imperial Highway. We saw cities like Lydes and Halamshiral. We stopped near Orzamaar and I met my first dwarf." She stopped and smiled at the memory. "I had never met a dwarf before, you see," she explained, "and I had no idea what to expect! We continued on through Gherlon's Pass and then around the north end of Lake Calenhad. The caravan was headed towards Denerim, and as Sylvaine and I had no set destination beyond Denerim, we continued on with them. By the time we reached the capital city, Sylvaine and I had been gone from Orlais for months.

"Gerard was a cloth merchant, and he was delivering goods to a merchant in Denerim who supplied the royal seamstresses with the cloths used in the King's garments. Sylvaine and I were introduced to other cloth merchants whom Gerard knew, and eventually we met up with a client of one of these merchants, an Orlesian noble woman named Lady Cecile. Lady Cecile knew of our mother's younger cousin, Amélie, and was able to unite us with her. Shortly after our arrival, Sylvaine began to work for Gerard, traveling with him. As they had become close on our journey, I was not overly surprised to learn a year afterwards that they had married."

"And what happened to you?" Bryce asked.

Marianne smiled, her thoughts trailing back once more. "I was allowed to stay with Amélie who lived with Lady Cecile. In return, I offered the lady what services I could, mostly around her house, but when Lady Cecile saw me practicing my bow one afternoon, she immediately put me in touch with a friend who served in the king's guards so that I could get further training." Marianne's smile faded then, and her gaze dropped to the ground. "I spent my first ten years in Ferelden in Denerim with Lady Cecile, and Amélie. However, it became clear after a time that I would need to move on."

Eleanor frowned. "What do you mean?"

Marianne gave her a quick smile. "Amélie is only a year older than myself. She had met a man shortly before my arrival and as of a few years ago, they wanted to marry. I don't know if they ever did, but I hope so."

Rising to her feet and stretching, she added in a quiet voice, "I began hearing … stories, disturbing accounts of … of things that …." Marianne shuddered as she stared out into the trees. She thought she heard a noise, softer than a breeze but an indication nonetheless, and she knew he was yet there, skulking, haunting… a never ending reminder of his presence in her life now.

Swallowing hard, Marianne turned her attentions back to her friends and with a firm shake of her head she continued, "I had to leave. I decided to seek out the Rebel Queen herself, to offer my services. I left Amélie, Lady Cecile and Denerim, anything and everything that had become familiar and safe and headed out into the unknown…." Glancing at Eleanor and Bryce, she smiled slightly and added, "But all of life is an unknown, yes? We only fool ourselves into thinking it is familiar as a way to hide from our own pasts."

* * *

_**A/N:** I have had several questions as to the origins of Le Loup Garou, and though my initial response is something along the lines of "Werewolf? There Wolf!" from Young Frankenstein, I will openly admit that the answer has always been in the next chapter - please be patient with me! In the meantime ... can you see yet where I am going with this? Let me know what you think and I may give hints if you wish!_


	19. Interview With a King

_Thanks to all who have been reading, reviewing and enjoying **We Do What Must Be Done**! I appreciate it so much! Thanks also to all who set their alerts and favorite status! I welcome all reviews - if you have something to say about the characters, please say it! I will also alert you that Marianne will have her own story coming up soon so that you may explore her background in a bit more detail ...!_

_As always, thanks to my two fabulous content betas - Erynnar and VioletTheirin! You ladies are so wonderful! Your input has helped so much in making my characters more realistic which is what I was going for!_

_Bioware owns it all ... I'm just making it fit my story better!_

* * *

They camped near a river bank on this evening, and as it was still light out Marianne decided that they would walk this evening. Truthfully, she hoped to keep Howe at bay. The man was becoming a nuisance, and she feared his continued eavesdropping would make the man more trouble than he was worth.

But there was more behind her reasoning than the annoyances of a self-absorbed semblance of a man. Marianne knew that the next part of her story could well become the one that dissolved her friendship with Bryce and Eleanor, despite their protests and assurances to the contrary. She felt the need to be moving or she would not make it through the telling.

As they wandered down one side of the bank, she picked her story up from where she had left it during their last discussion. "Not quite knowing where to search for the Rebel Queen, I started in the direction of Redcliffe and the Arl. I knew from pieces of information I had heard at the palace, from nobles such as Lady Cecile and others, that the Arl of Redcliffe was both a personal friend and supporter of the queen."

Thinking back on their journey, Eleanor murmured, "That must have taken some time to travel from Denerim."

Marianne's laugh was rueful. With a quick glance at her feet, a movement of her foot as if to shake off dust, she responded, "That it was, cherie! It was a long road for many, many reasons, not the least of which was that among my travels I encountered the usual bandits, rogue chevaliers, and other assorted … difficulties associated with a woman traveling alone on the road."

Marianne's smirk gave Bryce and Eleanor pause in their questions. "Oh, have no worries for me, mes amis," she quickly assured them. "The … difficulties I ran into were nothing, particularly once I made it quite clear I was not a poor, defenseless female. Soon even the chevaliers chose to leave me alone."

There was a break in the river before them, a shallow area containing larger boulders and rocks that formed a natural bridge. Choosing to cross, Marianne led the way, offering a hand to Eleanor behind her when they reached the other side. Once all three were safely on the far bank, Marianne glanced back and saw …. _Damn the man!_

"Have you heard the name _Renard Blanc_?" Marianne asked them suddenly, turning to lead them back upstream.

Bryce seemed confused, but Eleanor nodded. "I remember hearing stories of _Renard Blanc_ while growing up on my father's estate," she replied. Glancing up at Bryce, she explained, "_Renard Blanc_, or _White Fox_ as we sometimes would call him, is a champion of those in need, particularly women who suffered at the hands of men who …." Eleanor's gaze snapped over to Marianne's. "_You!_" she whispered in astonishment.

Marianne chuckled, but nodded. "Moi," she returned before leading them back up river. "I discovered many … opportunities along the way to Redcliffe you see. Most were women whose husbands were gone – either fighting or dead – while others were younger women who, as you say, were suffering at the hands of men." Her smile turned feral for a moment as she recalled. Then, shaking her head and dispelling the thoughts, she continued, "I gave help where I could as it was needed in return for the assistance that was offered me. For, you see, mes cheris, while the road to Redcliffe was easy to follow, finding the Rebel Queen was not."

They talked more, Marianne giving some detailed descriptions of her adventures as the _Renard Blanc_, until they found yet another crossing. After returning to the side of the river on which they had camped, Marianne led them back to the large fire near the tents. Seating themselves, she continued her story.

"The stories I had heard in Denerim, they were … gruesome, horrible, awful tales of an Orlesian knight, one who had become a favorite not only to the Emperor of Orlais, but to King Meghren himself. He was called _Le Loup Garou, The Werewolf_, I believe, in your tongue, yes?" She saw both Bryce and Eleanor nod. "I had heard of an Orlesian chevalier who had slaughtered an entire hapless village down to the last child; a man whose battle cries sounded like the cries of an evil wolf to his soldiers and thus they began calling him _Le Loup Garou_. At first it did not mean much to me. But I began to hear more details, a partial description of the man here, a bit more of his background there … slowly, the pieces began to fit together into a more complete puzzle. He was in Ferelden, running amok, as you might say. And once the puzzle was complete: I knew."

Marianne accepted a drink from Bryce, smiling at him as he seated himself beside Eleanor. She heard steps behind her, off to the left and away, but close enough. Ignoring the interruption, she leaned forward and continued her tale.

"It was months before I ever found out that Queen Moira had been betrayed and murdered. When I did, I began searching for her son, Maric." Marianne nodded as some soldiers wandered past, coming off their watch and returning to their tents. These men were loyal to Maric, to the Rebellion, which was why she had agreed to take on the mission in the first place. She had her doubts about Rendon Howe, but not about the men Maric had insisted she take. There were only about twenty in all, which in itself was not a great deal, but what they could do together …. _Ah, cheri_, she thought, conversing with the king inside her head, _if you could only see us in action now, eh? This might be the inspiration you and your friends, your army need in order to win, yes?_

"I finally caught up with the prince … no," she corrected herself, "your king, several months ago. It took some talking, particularly around his friend, Loghain I believe his name was …."

Eleanor was startled. "Loghain Mac Tir?" she asked.

Marianne nodded. "You know this man?"

Eleanor blushed a bit, felt Bryce's curiosity focus on her rather intently. "He is a … cousin, of sorts. His father and my mother were cousins …." At her words, she felt the sudden tension ease.

"Ah, yes," Marianne murmured. "Well, cherie, he does not like Orlesians much, though after hearing his reasons I can understand completely. I would not be surprised if Bastien was part of the problem to begin with …."

Shaking her head, she turned her attention back to her friends. "It took some explaining, particularly to Loghain, but I finally managed to convince him, Maric and Maric's future queen, Rowan, that I was on their side. I provided them with the information from the _Renard Blanc_, of the things I had seen and heard in Denerim and since regarding _Le Loup Garou_. In the end, I admitted that I was the bastard's sister, but that I had left when he was a child." She smiled to herself recalling the meeting ….

* * *

"_Your Majesty, I …"_

"_Until I have taken the throne, call me Maric, please," the blond giant urged. They were walking in the gardens of the estate of Gwaren, their current place of shelter. "I want to apologize for the … difficulty you have had since arriving. I know that Loghain has –"_

"_Non, Maric," Marianne hurried to cut him off. Stopping in her tracks, she turned to face him, reaching for his hand and a bit surprised at how easily he gave it to her. Squeezing it reassuringly, she told him, "Many of my people who have lived in your country have taken advantage of the situation. If that were not so, there would have been no need for your rebellion." She saw him nod. _

"_That said, there are some Orlesians, in particular some who are close to the king or the emperor who believe that they have the Maker given right to do as they please. I am NOT in agreement with this and it is because of such behavior that I sought you and your cause out." _

_Marianne looked up, deep into his eyes, willing him to see the truth in her own. "Le Loup Garou is Bastien Desmarais, my half brother. He is a beast, as his name suggests, though I have not seen this in person. His father is the reason I left Orlais, and had I the ability to lose what traces of Orlesian influence that still remain in my blood, I would. Your friend, Loghain?"_

"_Yes," Maric replied._

"_He has every right to be angry, cautious. He made it plain and clear what my people had done to him, his family. For that, they can never be forgiven. I would not expect him to be any less diligent regarding the security of his king."_

_They walked again, in silence for a time, Marianne remaining at his side, though she had released his hand. "Your m- Maric," she finally managed and caught the grin he tossed at her when she remembered his request, "I would make a request of you if I may."_

"_By all means," he returned. "It seems as if you have done quite a bit for the people of Ferelden. I would think it is our turn to assist you in some way."_

_She smiled warmly, then glanced away lest he see her real intent. "I hope you may think the same after my request," she said softly. Halting once more, she turned to face him, her features suddenly hard, fierce, a fire burning behind her golden gaze. "I feel compelled to act against Bastien, Maric," she announced. "If you can provide me with a small group of men, say twenty or so, I can hunt the bastard down and rid you of your 'werewolf' problem once and for all."_

_Maric straightened, looking over the petite young woman carefully. He heard a sound off to the side, almost a scoff, and knew that Loghain was nearby. Sighing inwardly, he called his friend out, making him a part of the discussion. In the end though, what could they really say? _

_Before Maric allowed her and the troops to leave Gwaren, however, he and Rowan presented her with a gift. "I know you would not accept a gift in thanks to the Renard Blanc," he told her, Rowan at his side handing over the item, "yet I hope you would accept this as a token of friendship from a grateful king and queen who intentions are to keep a friend safe in the battles to come."_

_Maric and Rowan watched as Marianne accepted the bow, made of heartwood that was stained black, and held it reverently in her small, capable hands. After a moment's disbelief, she hefted the beautiful piece, a work of art really, and drew the bowstring to test the tension. Given the newness of the weapon, the strength of the pull (and she could tell by its craftsmanship that it was a strong bow), Marianne was surprised that she was able to make an almost full pull. "Your Majesty, I-"_

"_Maric," he murmured. "The bow is called Death's Nock, and I have no doubt that you will make it worthy of such a name."_

_Marianne blushed. "Sorry. Maric. Thank you! I don't have the words to say …."_

_Rowan laughed, clearly delighted that the other woman enjoyed the weapon. "If you use it to succeed in your mission, that will be thanks enough," she assured her._

_Marianne nodded, giving the queen a long, appreciative look. "I will do that," she replied with a smile._

_

* * *

_

"I was given the men I requested, and Maric and Loghain suggested allying myself with Rendon Howe and whatever troops he might provide as no one had heard from you since White River." This last was directed at Bryce who nodded.

Marianne glanced around, noting the location of Howe and, leaning further forward, whispered so only Eleanor and Bryce would hear, "Never have I been so glad to come upon unexpected allies as I have with you!"


	20. Mission Accomplished!

_Thanks to all my readers, reviewers and those who have set alerts and favorite status! You all are so awesome! Please keep an eye out for **Les Aventures du Renard Blanc** coming soon, the more detailed adventures of Le Renard Blanc!_

_Also thanks to my content betas, Erynnar (**Soulmates, The First Cut is Always Deepest** and **Whispering Sighs of the Blade**) and VioletTheirin (**The Rose of the Alienage, She's My Salvation, Painful Mercy **and **I Love Birthdays!**). Thanks to Jannifer, my new and ultra fabulous grammar beta! (She's so good, I can't tell where she made changes!) Welcome and thanks so very, very much!_

_As always, Bioware owns it all … I'm simply playing around with it!_

* * *

Thinking she heard a sound, Eleanor froze her position, grabbing and squeezing Bryce's arm briefly to alert him. He nodded, quietly shifting to arm his shield and unsheathe his sword. Eleanor glanced around, looking for … _Marianne?_

The group had split into two scouting parties, half going with Bryce, Eleanor and Marianne, the other half with Howe and his men. The trail they had been following had split, and rather than allowing for an opportunity for their opponent to backtrack and outflank them.

But as they neared their destination, the group had split yet again, into pairs. It was now, as she and Bryce began to enter the clearing that Eleanor began to sense the presence of the enemy….

Bryce scanned the clearing. He could hear sounds of battle off at a distance, wondered if perhaps his friend had found the main body of the Orlesian forces. He could sense others around them, but nothing in the clearing itself and began to wonder if perhaps they were facing stealth fighters instead?

Suddenly, an arrow shot out from the far side of the clearing finding purchase in Eleanor's upper arm. Bryce heard her cry, turned and watched her go down for a brief moment, before spinning back around towards the direction from which the missile had sprung. Centering his focus on the enemy in front of him, though he was desperately concerned about Eleanor, Bryce tried to locate the bow that had made the shot.

It took only the briefest of moments, but a loud, harsh laugh echoing from the depths of an evil that could only be imagined suddenly burst through area, as the sounds of breaking tree limbs and clanging plate mail joined it. "Well, well, well," the voice, heavily accented, called as a giant of a man stepped into sight. "It seems as if we have a survivor of White River at last …."

Bryce stood his ground, adjusting position only to keep Eleanor behind him, momentarily out of sight. He could feel his vision narrowing down, looking ahead as if through a tunnel while an ever increasingly blind hatred and anger churned and roiled inside of him.

A strong voice cried out from Bryce's left, "Bastien, non!"

Bastien Desmarais, _Le Loup Garou_, Orlesian chevalier, supporter and favorite of King Megrhen and even the Emperor himself … was nearly brought to his knees by the familiarity of the voice of a tiny woman exiting the tree line and walking in his direction, her bow aimed at his heart. He recognized her immediately, knowing that she would fulfill the promise of her bow if he so much as breathed in a manner of which she disapproved. "Marianne," he murmured, his voice dropping lower, years of pent up emotions gushing forward in an instant. "Ma soeur. Ou as-tu été toutes ces années? Nous avons pensé que voies étiez mort!" he exclaimed, his disappointment giving away his true feelings. [_Sister. Where have you been all these years? We thought you were dead!]_

Marianne made no reply to his words as she ever so slowly moved closer. When she reached Bryce and Eleanor's side, she whispered, "I will engage him, Bryce. Get Eleanor out of here and both of you get to safety!" She heard Bryce's hiss of disagreement and insisted, "Bastien is my _brother_, Bryce! Only I can buy you the time you need to escape!"

Bryce and Eleanor both stared at the young Orlesian woman for a long moment, her words sinking in as they realized that their mission was nearing its end. Slowly, ever so slowly so that he would not capture the attention of the chevalier, Bryce eased Eleanor to his side and assisted her away from the field of battle. They both heard the conversation between siblings clearly, words flying back and forth in Orlesian with such speed and force and … vitriol that, even though the two Ferelden natives could only understand a few of the words, the meaning of the emotions behind them was more than obvious.

Bryce had pulled Eleanor to the edge of the field when they heard the cry of "J'attaque!" [_Attack!] _ Both could only stare in horror as the chevalier launched his attack upon his sister, still armed only with her bow. "Bryce," Eleanor hissed at him, reaching for his arm and squeezing to get his attention, "_do_ something! He'll kill her!"

* * *

Marianne had expected the attack, had even counted on it as a distraction for Bryce and Eleanor to use to their advantage in escaping, but she was still overwhelmed by how quickly Bastien had moved. She threw _Death's Nock_ aside as she reached for her swords – the _Tempered Faith_ her father had left her at his death, and the _Shadow's Bite_ that Eleanor and Bryce had provided her with as a gift of friendship before their journey had begun. She managed to get the weapons drawn and crossed fast enough to block Bastien's first blow … one aimed to kill, of that there was no doubt.

As the battle progressed, Marianne began to realize the advantage her rogue training gave her over a more heavily armored opponent like her brother, but he was at least as good with his sword and shield as she was with her bow. His skill with arms more than made up for his lack of speed and agility. She ducked and dodged, constantly finding ways to get behind him only to have him turning before she could use it to her advantage …

… and then she caught a break. Bastien, so intent upon defeating her; no, on _destroying_ her, did not see the large stone in his path until it was too late. He went down hard, banging his head upon the ground which stunned him and gave Marianne the time she needed. She found a soft spot between his plates of mail, and thrust her blade in ….

* * *

Bryce and Eleanor watched the scene before them as it played out, but from a distance. Bryce winced as the man's head hit solid stone and dirt. It didn't matter if you were friend or foe, that _had_ to hurt. He watched as Marianne, breathing heavily from her exertions, took advantage ….

Eleanor lurched to her feet, her cry of, "No!" the only sound as it echoed through the clearing. "Marianne, no!"

Bryce frowned, wondering what Eleanor was about … and then he saw.

* * *

Marianne knew the moment she saw the flash of the blade in the corner of her eye that the wound would be mortal. She glanced down at Bastien, watching the life ebb out of his eyes as she stumbled backwards away from him and began to crumple slowly to the ground.

* * *

Eleanor, even with an arrow to the upper arm, moved quickly. She leapt to her feet and rant to Marianne's side, falling to her knees frantically searching for the wound. Bryce was right behind her, kneeling across from his wife, but his eyes had caught Marianne's … and he could see the inevitability there. He wanted to shout a denial, to deny the Maker the woman's soul. Reaching out, he attempted to halt Eleanor's efforts.

"Bryce, what -?"

"Ellie, stop," Bryce told her. "There's nothing to be done."

Marianne reached a hand up to cover Eleanor's, to squeeze gently and force the younger woman to look at her. Reluctantly, Eleanor's gaze rose, and saw what she was hoping not to see. Unable to control a sob, she lifted one of her bloodstained hands to her lips to cover the sound. "Ah, cherie," Marianne managed through the pain, "it was … not to be."

Bryce watched the Orlesian woman's eyes turn back to his. "You two … have something … precious," she choked out. "The Maker is watching … over you." She began reaching out with one of her hands, flailing about off to her right side.

As Bryce was nearest, he halted the movement, returning Marianne's hand to Eleanor's while he reached for the swords that were a short distance away. He grasped the hilts of the two weapons and brought them to his friend. "Here," he told her gently, taking her hand and closing it around one of them.

Marianne felt her breathing becoming more difficult. She knew she was running out of time. "Bow …," she gasped. Bryce returned momentarily with this as well. Nodding, she pulled Bryce's hand back, covering Eleanor's. "Swords," she told them, "promise … your daughter…when old enough."

Bryce saw that Eleanor was unable to answer, so he nodded instead. "We will give them to her and tell her your story," he promised.

Marianne nodded. Glancing up at Eleanor, she pleaded with her eyes, watching as Eleanor leaned forward. "Bow …."

Eleanor nodded. "Yes?"

Marianne began coughing, weakening more rapidly than she had wished. "Cousin … Amélie … for her child …."

Eleanor nodded immediately, pulling her friend's hand close, giving her what comfort she could. "I will see it that it happens," she promised hoarsely through her grief.

More coughing, and Marianne could sense the darkening at the edges of her vision. She began whispering, praying … Eleanor and Bryce could not tell. Finally, "Maman!" Marianne gasped, blood now leaking out of the corner of her mouth. "Le mort est sur moi …." _[Mother! Death is upon me!]_

Bryce leaned forward moments later, lowering the young woman's eyelids to cover golden depths that would gaze upon the world no more. Then moving to Eleanor's side, he assisted her to her feet. "We have to find the others, see to your wound," he murmured near her ear. "While you are being tended, I will come back for her."

Eleanor leaned into his shoulder as he led her away, allowing her emotions release. The woman who had started as an adversary and evolved into a truly exceptional friend would now have to remain a memory for the remainder of her days.


	21. Reunification

_My many thanks to the readers, reviewers and those of you who continue to set up alerts and favorite status. You truly humble me with your interest in my take on Bryce and Eleanor! For those who are interested, there will be a side story appearing in the near future called __**Les Aventures du Renard Blanc**__ (The Adventures of the White Fox) to give Marianne a bit more display. Thank you to all of you who have expressed your interest in her! She is becoming one of my favorite characters to write!_

_Thanks forever and always to Erynnar (__**Soulmates, The First Cut is Always the Deepest, **__and __**The Whispering Sighs of the Blade**__) and to VioletTheirin (__**She is My Salvation, The Rose of the Alienage, Painful Mercy,**__ and __**I Love Birthdays**__) for being my content betas, my friends and my sounding boards! You girls are my salvation!_

_As always, Bioware owns it all except for what I make up…. And thanks to Mr. Gaider, and his book __**The Stolen Throne**__ for some of the references below._

_

* * *

_

They took the time to pay tribute to their fallen comrade, their commander on this mission, though the time spent was brief out of necessity. Bryce and Eleanor packed away the swords and bow with their belongings per Marianne's final request. Bryce, some of the men and even Rendon Howe built her a funeral pyre. Someone in the group even managed a few verses of the Chant. After the ceremony was complete, the fire gone out and the ashes scattered to the winds, they packed up their gear and began to march.

Though awash with grief at the loss of her new friend, Eleanor could not fail to notice several things that had occurred as of late; things that she had mentioned, at night while in bed, to Bryce as well.

"_I don't trust him," Eleanor murmured. "I tell you, Bryce, he was stalking her!"_

"_Ellie, what would you have me do?" Bryce asked. "We saw her die … __**he**__ was not at fault for that, her brother was."_

"_No, but where was he? Where were his men? When we finally caught up to him, I hope you noticed that both he and his men were __**clean**__, as if they had not seen any battle while the troops with us were all covered with blood and gore!"_

_Bryce ran a hand over her back in soothing motions. "I will admit, Rendon is a tough bastard to like," he murmured and heard her snort of derision, "but you and I both know that until the Rebellion is over, we need his help!"_

Eleanor had let the argument go at that point, knowing that nothing could or would be done. She decided to make damned sure not to be alone around the man, for she could never trust him. She still had not mentioned the incident in the library at Amaranthine to Bryce, knowing that if she did, it would upset him.

Their destination was as uncertain as the current location of King Maric was unknown. Though the Rebellion's successes as a whole were mounting, and the fall of King Meghren was all but certain, Maric and his forces remained on the move to be safe.

Marianne had told Bryce and Eleanor during their initial briefing that Maric was intending to meet up with her in about six months time near Lothering. Eleanor knew that time was almost passed, but they had no further information to go on, so they would begin there.

They finally arrived in Lothering about two weeks after their last battle. It was decided that the soldiers would scout in four or five small groups around the town while Eleanor, Bryce and Howe actually entered the heart of the village itself.

"Pretty as a painting," Bryce murmured to Eleanor as they descended from the Imperial Highway into the glorified hamlet.

They passed a few houses, shacks really, heading into the main part of the village. In the distance, they could see the Chantry building, noting also as they walked several templars about. Eleanor instinctually moved closer to Bryce, not even realizing she had done so until she felt his arm slide around her waist giving her the sense of safety she was seeking.

Rendon was leading the way, and as they entered the main housing district on the northern edges of Lothering, he gestured to their left. "Doesn't matter who is in charge of the town," he murmured to Bryce, "there will always be news and gossip to find at the local tavern."

Bryce nodded in agreement. Guiding a reluctant Eleanor, he followed his friend towards the establishment. _Dane's Refuge_ was emblazoned on the sign and it looked relatively new.

Rendon chuckled. "Wonder if that's in tribute to the victory at River Dane?" he mused.

The three entered the tavern which, given the time of day, was bustling with activity. Rendon agreed to get their drinks while Bryce and Eleanor secured a table for them to sit at. Bryce held out the chair for her before taking his own, and when he sat and looked over at her, he gave her a puzzled look as she smiled. "What was that for?" he asked.

Eleanor just smiled wider, refusing to say anything.

Howe returned at that point, carrying three mugs of ale for them. Taking a seat, he leaned slightly forward and murmured, "We have only just missed them it seems."

Bryce took a long drink from the mug. "How long ago?"

"Earlier this week," Howe explained. "From what the man said, they were heading north, up the east side of Lake Calenhad."

Eleanor glanced at Bryce. "Heading to Highever?" she asked.

Rendon shook his head. "He did not know." Bemused, he watched as Eleanor rose from her seat. "Where are you going?"

Eleanor ignored him and turned away, walking in the direction of the barkeep's counter.

Sighing in disgust, Rendon muttered, "Bryce, you need to teach that woman her place!"

Bryce chuckled as he watched Eleanor stride up to the barkeep and begin speaking with him and a younger man. Her end of the conversation was spirited, if her hand gestures were any indication. "Rendon, my friend," he replied easily, "I think that she knows her place quite well." _And it is right here beside me._ This last still amazed him, and he sent a quick prayer of thanks to the Maker and his missing friend who had been responsible for his reuniting with Eleanor.

Howe made certain his friend could not see his sneer of derision at that comment.

Eleanor returned a short while later, nodding slightly towards the doorway as she arrived. The two men rose and gathered their belongings before following her lead out the door.

Eleanor led them through the town in silence. She knew they were behind her, and she had seen Howe's glare upon her rejoining them at the table. _Good!_ she thought. _Sodding bastard!_ She led them a short ways along the Imperial Highway before stopping to rest at the rendez-vous point they had agreed upon with their soldiers.

Bryce noted that they were the first to arrive, which was not a surprise given the short amount of time they had actually spent in the town. Taking a seat on the same log as Eleanor, he asked, "Care to share?" He saw her face redden slightly.

"Well, Danal –"

"Danal?"

Eleanor nodded. "He's the teen-aged son of the barkeep, Basil. Anyway, Danal said he and his brother Basil saw Maric, Loghain and a small contingent of soldiers leaving town three days ago. They had been in the tavern the evening before, mixing with the locals, talking, … you know, the usual."

Bryce nodded. "Did Danal or Basil hear where they were headed?" Howe joined them then, sitting further down the log. He pulled out one of his swords and began cleaning it.

Eleanor nodded, reaching for the pack at her shoulder and dropping it to the ground. She scrounged around inside and pulled out some dried beef to gnaw on. It was nearing mid-day, and they would need to leave as soon as the others arrived. Handing some over to Bryce who passed it along to Howe as well, she continued, "That's the thing: Everyone heard Maric and Loghain clearly say they were headed north, towards the Tower."

Bryce eyed her closely. Before he could say a word, Howe spoke up and said, "That makes sense of a sort. A ways back, right around the time of River Dane, Revered Mother Bronach, the Grand Cleric of Ferelden, changed sides in the conflict."

Eleanor's eyes locked onto Bryce's. They had not heard of this at all. "Why?" Bryce ventured.

"She declared King Meghren to be a demon reborn, or was it a dangerous tyrant? Whatever the case, it was something of the like and she went on to claim the Maker had sent Maric to save the country, declared him to be the rightful heir to the throne and withdrew her support, and the Chantry's, from Meghren and his rule. I could see where Maric might think he could get support from the Tower, particularly now they were not having to worry about the Chantry at every turn."

Eleanor shook her head. "No. That's not where they went."

Both men turned and stared at her. Eleanor stared directly at Bryce as Howe began protesting, almost to the point of demeaning her in front of him, but she saw that he would wait, hear out her explanation first. When Howe finally broke off his complaints, Eleanor turned to look at him, struggling to keep her disgust in check. "The reason I know this is because I know for a fact that Loghain would never allow it." Her gaze turned, watching as two of the patrols arrived. "He would not allow this because Ostagar is not far from here and is the perfect place for Maric and his army to hide, not only to keep safe, but to keep their true numbers hidden as well. It's the perfect location."

Bryce rose, staring southwards. _I should have realized …._ He could see another patrol in the distance. That left two more, both of which should be returning shortly.

* * *

"You do realize we are on a fool's errand, don't you Bryce?" Howe was saying as they continued down the Imperial Highway towards Ostagar.

"Rendon, we have nothing better to go on. I am in agreement with Eleanor: announcing in public, where anyone, no matter their loyalties, could hear them was not something Maric would do. He may be young, and he may be new at this, but he knows better than that. His mother would have taught him that as his first lesson!" Bryce glanced ahead of them, where the Highway ended and they had to resort to cross-country travel. He paused the group for a break, a few minutes rest and opportunity to eat, stock up on fresh water, before they traveled the last miles. Silently, he prayed to the Maker that Eleanor was correct.

* * *

Eleanor was walking beside Bryce as they neared the ruins. Already, she could sense that the ruins were no longer just ruins, but they had yet to see any people. Moments later, they were surrounded by a mixed unit of archers and armed men. She could tell by the devices on their shields that they were the king's men, but they didn't appear to be buying the story Bryce and Rendon were giving of who they were. Eleanor had pulled her bow the moment they appeared, several more of their men had as well, with the rest drawing swords. Her gaze darting around, hopping from person to person, she did not see anyone she recognized….

A sardonic laugh oozed its way forward, just before the group parted to allow another through. Glancing over at the interruption, Eleanor saw him: tall, slender, brooding and dark. Only one person she knew fit that description. "Loghain," she called out in recognition, lifting her voice above the cacophony of the men posturing around her.

The man barely controlled his smirk as he tried to maintain a serious, stern composure. "Hello, cousin," he greeted. Stepping forward, he reached for her hand, which she gave, and he pulled her forward. No hug of welcome, no kiss upon the cheek, but then she hadn't expected that either. "I assume you have news?"

Eleanor nodded, gesturing towards Bryce and Howe and the rest of their contingent. "They are with me," she insisted.

Loghain glanced over where she pointed, taking in the road weary men. "Come along, then," he grunted, leading them off in the direction of Maric's camp.

As they trailed after Loghain, Eleanor took in the size of the king's army and supporters simply by noting whom she saw present in the king's camp. _Surely their forces are enough to take the throne from Meghren once and for all, aren't they?_ She began feeling a bit light-headed at it all, the numbers, the sheer magnitude of the job at hand, the closeness to a dream being completed ….

Bryce noticed Eleanor wobble a bit as she walked and stepped up to her side, sliding an arm around her waist in support. Silently cursing himself for allowing her to push them so hard the last few days, he glanced over at the man she claimed was kin. He was dressed in leather armor, daggers at his waist, a wicked looking bow at his back. _Family tradition?_ he wondered.

"Maric!" the man suddenly called out, and Bryce's gaze caught the movement of a tall blond man … the same he remembered meeting so long ago….

Eleanor felt the light squeeze at her waist, glanced up and saw the king approach, his blond hair gleaming like a halo around his head as the sun shone down. The king's gaze looked over them as if searching for something, someone. "I sense you bring bad news," he murmured in greeting.

Bryce stepped forward then, waited until Maric looked at him long and hard and finally saw the recognition in the other man's eyes. "Bryce?" he breathed in astonishment. "Maker's breath, my friend, we all were beginning to think the rumors of your survival were for naught! Many were saying you had perished alongside your brother at White River!"

Bryce winced slightly at the reference to Iain. So much had happened since then. "No, your Majesty," Bryce returned, "I was fortunate enough to be rescued by this," he grasped Eleanor's hand and pulled her forward with him, "lovely lady."

Maric glanced down at the dark haired, green eyed beauty now standing before him. "Have we met?" he asked her suddenly, a puzzled expression forming on his face. "You look stunningly familiar …."

Eleanor smiled. "You and your mother visited my father shortly before her death, your Majesty," she murmured in response.

Maric suddenly snapped his fingers. "Bann Galen Muir," he responded. "Eleanor, wasn't it? Or, was it Nan?"

Eleanor smiled, almost giggled, at his reaction. "Eleanor," she returned.

Maric gestured them and Rendon towards his nearby tent. Inside there were places for them to sit and rest, and all three weary travelers chose to do so. "So then," the king continued after they all were comfortable, Maric prowling around the tent as he spoke, Loghain standing near the doorway, "by the absence of our mutual friend," he glanced over at Bryce and Eleanor and saw them nod, "am I to assume that Marianne Desmarais was unsuccessful in her task?"

Eleanor was the first to speak, though she found it difficult to find her voice at first while remembering the death of her friend. "On the contrary, your Majesty, though she lost he own life in the process, she, and we, were successful. _Le Loup Garou_ and his men shall be a problem no longer … to _anyone_."

If Maric was startled by the frankness of her comment, he did not show it. Simply looking over at Loghain with an "I told you so" expression, he ventured, "That is a relief then," while turning his attention to Bryce, "for as I am sure you know he was hunting down the relatively few rebel survivors of White River."

Bryce nodded. "Given the man's … tenacity at following us around the country," he explained, "I had gathered as much. He needed to be … dealt with."

There was a momentary silence then as Loghain stepped aside and some refreshments were brought inside the pavilion. Maric allowed his guests to take what they wished before settling back into conversation once more.

Before allowing the discussion to go much further, Bryce began, "Your Majesty, I wonder if I –"

Maric waved his comment off, a smile playing at his features. "Bryce, I am only going to remind you of this once: the name is Maric. You above all others as Teyrn of Highever and as my friend deserve that much."

Bryce was stunned into silence. _As Teyrn of Highever_ …. He chanced a glance over at Eleanor. Despite her exhaustion, it was clear she had made the connection too.

Maric made a gesture to Loghain who retrieved something from a nearby chest and brought it to the king. Maric took it in his hand and lifted it between his fingers for Bryce to see: the Cousland family signet ring.

Eleanor stepped to Bryce's side then, sensing his churning emotions. She felt his arm slide around her waist, almost instinctually. She slid her own around his in silent support. Watching in silence, she saw him take the ring from Maric's hand, staring at it for a very long moment, before raising it to his lips and sliding it onto his finger. "What – what happened?" he finally managed to choke out.

It was actually Loghain who responded to the question. "After the disaster at White River, your father sent more troops to assist us. This he continued every six months or so, almost as quickly as he could get them mustered and trained. Three months ago, I was sent to try to convince him to leave Highever, to join our ranks." At Bryce's look, he added, "We were concerned about his own security. Meghren knew your father was sending troops, knew that it was almost constant. We were concerned that an attempt might be made against him."

Maric gave Bryce a hard look. "After Rendorn Guerrin's death, I needed the other nobles' support as well," he explained. "I thought perhaps if your father were to openly join our cause, despite what happened to Teyrn Voric …."

Bryce nodded, understanding the direction of the king's comments. "Did my father join you then? Was he here?"

Loghain shook his head, for a moment his eyes darkening. "It was … too late even then," he admitted, his voice quiet. "Your father had been ill for a long while. He was in no shape to travel. He died about a week after my men and I left Highever. The ring was brought to us by a messenger."

Bryce was staring in Loghain's direction, but his gaze went beyond the rogue, through him. "He never knew I was still alive then …."

"Actually," Loghain added, eyeing the new teyrn closely, "he did. Shortly before the battle at River Dane he told me, he received a missive from Bann Galen stating that you had survived the battle but were on the run from the Orlesians."

Bryce blinked at this bit of news, his focus drawn back to the present. "He did?"

Frowning, Eleanor glanced up at Bryce. "My father?"

"Something about a dwarven merchant?"

If it was possible to find humor in that moment, Bryce and Eleanor did. "The horses!" they chorused, both laughing for just a moment at the realization that the merchant had indeed kept his word to return the beasts to Bann Galen.

Loghain turned away for another moment before returning with a much larger item. "Bann Galen also sent your father this."

Bryce released Eleanor and took the kite shield emblazoned with the Cousland family crest. "Iain's shield," he murmured quietly.

Stepping into the conversation once more, Maric asked, "Loghain, will you show them where to set up their camp, please? I'm sure they are exhausted and need rest before further discussion." Turning to Bryce once more he clapped the man's shoulder and told him, "I am glad to see you survived, my friend. We are very near the end, I think. I hope you will be with us?"

Bryce nodded. "I would have it no other way … Maric."

Loghain gestured them out of the tent and led them across the bustling camp. Along the way, he gave them a brief explanation of the camp's arrangement so that they could find the things they would need. Upon arrival at the area designated for them, Bryce found that their tents had already been established by some of their men.

"I will send someone for you when we have our strategy session later," Loghain was saying.

"Thank you." Bruce turned towards the tent then, leading Eleanor inside while Loghain began heading back towards Maric's camp. Before he had moved far, he heard a sugary, smarmy voice say, "My lord, I wonder if I might have a moment of your time …?"

Loghain turned towards the sound. "Howe, isn't it?" he queried, eyeing the man up and down.

Rendon nodded, falling into step beside Loghain as they began walking off in the direction from which they had just come.


	22. Homeward Bound

_Thank you to all of my readers, reviewers and those who continue to add me to alerts and favorites! Your interest tickles me, delights me, and inspires me to write more!_

_Thanks as always to my betas: __**Erynnar**__ and __**VioletTheirin**__ for content. __They are much more than simple betas – they are friends and their insight helps me in sooooo many ways! Thank you, my friends, so very much!_

_As always … Bioware is the king of the playground. I'm just messing around with it!_

_

* * *

_

The days began passing rapidly, one after another, until one morning as he sat in front of his tent cleaning and mending his aging armor and well-used weapons, Bryce realized that they had been at Ostagar for a month. He had mentioned to Eleanor on a few occasions his desire to go to Highever, to see how his home fared in the absence of any Couslands, but each time he would mention it, she would withdraw from the conversation, so he hadn't returned to that topic for several days now.

Bryce glanced across the fire from where from he sat, watching as Eleanor worked on her bow. The thing was in pretty bad condition, having been through much since their hurried flight from her father's manor so many months before. He had suggested the week prior that she use the bow Marianne had left them to pass along to the cousin, Amélie, but Eleanor had refused. "That is a special gift," she insisted, "one that will not be touched until it reaches the right hands."

Bryce had decided it wasn't worth the effort to argue about it, instead deciding that he would have to purchase her a new one the moment he came into his funds … which were back at his home in Highever … which she refused to discuss. Sighing, Bryce turned his attention back to his blade.

"Excuse me, your grace?"

It took Bryce a long moment to realize that the messenger who had just arrived was speaking to him. As he looked up, startled, he silently wondered how long it would take to get used to being Teyrn of Highever. "Yes?"

The messenger quickly explained, "His Majesty would like you to see him in his tent, if it is convenient for you."

Bryce nodded, rising to his feet and setting aside the gear he was still in process of cleaning. He signaled one of his men, one of the Highever men, to take his place and work on it, knowing that it was indeed in bad shape and that it would take a good deal of time to mend. "Lead on," he instructed the messenger.

But the man hesitated a moment. "Pardon, my lord, but his Majesty would like Bann Galen's daughter to attend as well."

Eleanor glanced up, now wearing the startled expression. Rising quickly, she set her bow aside, straightened her appearance, and fell into step with Bryce as they followed the man. She looked up at Bryce, concern on her features, but he simply smiled reassuringly. He took her hand in his, squeezing it gently, and held it the entire walk to through the camp.

They entered the tent together, Bryce placing his arm around her back to guide her inside. Their eyes took a moment to adjust to the darker interior, but when they did, they found Maric, his queen, Rowan, and a little blond-haired toddler wandering around between their legs. Moments later, they saw the boy fall on his well padded behind, looking startled, and then begin to cry. Maric, laughing, reached down and lifted the boy into his arms. "Ah, Cailan," he murmured.

Rowan simply smiled at them both and placed a hand on Maric's arm. "Your guests," she murmured.

Maric turned and spotted Bryce and Eleanor then, his smile widening and he gestured them inside. Handing little Cailan to Rowan, he walked over to greet them both, a warrior's forearm grasp with Bryce, and a kiss of Eleanor's hand. "Come in," he told them, leading them both further inside the pavilion. "I believe you have met my wife," he gestured to Rowan who smiled and nodded a greeting at the both of them, "but I would like you to meet my son as well."

Bryce smiled at the sight, having heard rumors since their arrival of how this relationship had almost never happened. He felt his heart break just a bit as the boy, who could not have been much older than a year and a half, smiled at him and Eleanor. _Iain was just younger than you, my prince. Would that you could have been playmates …._

Eleanor reached a hand out, waiting patiently as the child stared first at her face, and then the extended limb. Finally, he dared to reach his own little hand out to touch her, and she felt his tiny hand close around her finger…. Eleanor shut her eyes quickly, trying to hide from the tears that threatened.

Sensing the couple's strong emotional reaction to her son, Rowan murmured, "I believe Cailan and I will go for a walk and leave you to your business." She glanced at Maric and waited for him to nod before turning to leave.

Bryce took a deep breath, expelling the air slowly, evenly, as he regained his composure, though he could not keep his eyes from following the child from the tent.

"I suspect that there is a story in there somewhere," Maric observed quietly, loathe to break into their private pain.

Bryce turned to face his king. "Yes, your Maj - , Maric." He had seen the frown begin at his use of Maric's title. Glancing over at Eleanor, he noticed that she was turning away from the men, a hand rising to her face to brush the moisture away. "It is quite a story, perhaps for another time?"

Maric eyed them both closely. Walking to Eleanor's side, he gently guided her to a nearby chair, offering her a handkerchief as she sat. Eleanor murmured a polite thank you before bursting into full blown sobs. Maric glanced at Bryce, saw the other man's pained expression, and moved so that he could attend his lady. "I do not wish to seem …callous," he told them, "but would this have anything to do with the death of a child at the hands of _Le Loup Garou_ some months ago?"

Both Bryce and Eleanor froze in astonishment. "Ho-how …?" Eleanor gasped. Bryce too was amazed.

Maric grinned a bit sheepishly. "I have my spies," he admitted, "and I had the friendship of a very unusual woman who was able to read people quite well. I was able to piece together what happened, but only just recently," he added reassuringly. He had seated himself across from them, and now leaned forward. "I do now know how you have survived such a thing," he said quietly, "nor do I think I could do the same. But please know I will not betray your privacy in this regard." He sighed. "This was not at all why I asked you both here, either."

There was a soft rustle at the doorway, and the three turned to see Queen Rowan returning, concern on her features as she took in the situation. Glancing at her husband, she saw him nod once, firmly. Her own features softening into sympathy, she moved to Eleanor's side and took her hand. "I hope you do not mind that Maric informed me as well," she told them. She held Eleanor's hand firmly, as if trying to send her strength through their connection.

"It was Rowan who helped me understand what had happened," Maric admitted, giving his wife a look of admiration. Rising, he gestured Bryce to follow him as he strode across the room. "We will leave them for a moment," he said softly, "as I'm sure Rowan can mend the injuries I had not intended."

Bryce shook his head. "Maric, don't," he insisted. "We have healed as best we can. Time will have to do the rest."

Maric pulled him over to a nearby armor stand, displaying a beautiful set of dragon bone plate armor. "I had invited you here to show you this," he explained.

Bryce eyed the battle gear and smiled. He recognized the material, but had thought it very rare. This was only the second time he had ever seen a substantial amount in one set. "Dragon bone?"

Maric nodded. "Incredibly lightweight, durable and with an enchantment for extra protection in battle. What do you think?"

Bryce chuckled. The king's enthusiasm was infectious. "It is incredible," he replied. "You are lucky indeed to have such a set."

"Ah," Maric replied, his grin widening, "it is there that you are mistaken. You see," he continued, a twinkle in his eye, "this set is called _Cousland's Valor_, and therefore is unsuitable for a man of my position." He smiled as Bryce's eyes widened. "You must understand, there is a certain superstition about the wearer of such armor … that if a warrior wears armor that has another's name upon it he will fall or fail in battle."

Bryce actually laughed. He knew good and well that Maric was making that up. Swallowing his laughter, he asked, "Am I to assume then that you wish me to take this … set off of your hands?"

Maric's smirk was well hidden, but he could tell by Bryce's look that he'd seen it. "You would be doing me a great favor if you would."

Sighing, Bryce nodded. "I believe that could be arranged."

Maric chuckled. He led Bryce over to a table, lifting a beautifully crafted bow. "For your lady?" he murmured.

Bryce smiled and nodded. "You do the honors, please."

Maric turned and carried the item across the opened room until he reached the sides of both women. Eleanor had finally risen, and was looking much better, when he approached. "My lady Eleanor, I was wondering if you might be able to assist me?"

Eleanor blinked. "Yes, your Majesty?" She saw him lift an eyebrow, and quickly corrected herself. "My apologies, … Maric."

His enthusiastic grin appeared to put her at ease as he continued. "Well, you see, I have come across this magnificently crafted bow, which as you can tell by looking at it was made for the hands of a woman," Eleanor's eyes glanced up at his, a look telling him that she knew what he was up to making him smile. "It is called _Wicked Grace_ and I suspect would provide the warrior that uses such a weapon with as accurate and deadly an aim as an expert card player."

Eleanor accepted the gift in her hands, turning the object so that she could examine the design, noting it was made of a deep purplish colored heartwood, inlaid with white rowan. Carved into the rowan itself were intricate knotwork designs stretching from the hand hold in the center and radiating out towards the tips. At the end of each of the two lines of knotwork were cabochon emeralds, the color matching her eyes almost perfectly. She strung the weapon quickly, expertly, testing the tension and pull. Stepping back from the king and queen, she lifted the bow as if to aim it, pulling on the string. Satisfied with the tension, she lowered the weapon, and smiled. "Thank you, Maric," she glanced over at Rowan as well, "and you, Rowan. It is a beautiful gift and one that I will treasure always."

"I would be satisfied if you simply use it to defeat the enemy as we approach the end of our mission," Maric replied.

"Husband, that may be a bit difficult unless a final push is made soon," Rowan interjected. Glancing over at Eleanor who, both men noticed, blushed lightly, the queen continued, "For unless Meghren is defeated in the next few months, I believe the lady Eleanor will have her hands filled with … things other than weapons of war."

Bryce frowned for a moment, until he saw Eleanor lift her emerald gaze to his … and the realization hit him like a blow to the chest in battle. "You are pregnant?" he breathed. "Again?"

Eleanor nodded. "I –" Whatever she had been about to say was forgotten as she suddenly found herself in Bryce's arms being spun around in a circle before he lowered her to the ground and kissed her, thoroughly. "Br-Bryce," she gasped, "the king and queen!"

Reluctantly, Bryce released his grip on her, but before letting go completely, he raised his hands to her cheeks, held her there and made her face him. "You will not leave me!" he told her.

Before she could answer, Maric's confused voice interjected, "Leave you? Are you not married?"

"We were handfasted," Eleanor admitted, "unfortunately without witnesses."

Bryce pulled her close, his arm tightening around her. "It is a marriage just as binding as one through the Chantry," he insisted. He turned to face Maric once more. "Though I suspect you both had many witnesses, I believe your marriage was the same?"

Rowan smiled. "More or less," she replied. "It would be difficult to have a Chantry-approved wedding when the Chantry itself was, at that time, in support of a tyrant."

Maric chuckled. "For what it is worth," he told them, "should anyone ever challenge you, you may consider us," he gestured to his wife and himself, "as your witnesses."

Eleanor and Bryce smiled first at each other, then at the king and queen. "You are most generous," Eleanor murmured.

After several more moments of discussion, Bryce turned the conversation to his home. "From what I have seen, your plan is to confront Meghren in Denerim in four or five months time?"

Maric nodded. "We are making final preparations now, and all things being equal, as we know they are not," he added with a wink towards Eleanor, "we will begin heading in that direction in four months."

Bryce nodded. "May I respectfully request, then, a leave of absence so that I may return to Highever and put my house in order, so to speak?" he asked. "Aside from establishing myself as the new and rightful Teyrn, I believe we have some housekeeping issues to attend."

Maric's laugh was contagious. "As long as you agree to be with me at Denerim in five months time, I have no problem with that, my friend."

Bryce nodded, glancing down again at Eleanor, who looked a cross between relieved and annoyed. "Then if your Majesties will excuse us, we have a trip to plan."

* * *

Bryce and Eleanor, with a contingent of eight Highever soldiers, were on the road early the next morning. It took them about a week to get from Ostagar to Highever, this time crossing east of Lake Calenhad, up the Imperial Highway.

Evening was fast approaching as they entered the town, but Bryce found himself scanning their surroundings, noting things that had changed, others that were the same and those that could use change. _I've been away too damned long!_ he chided himself. As they walked through the town square, following the road up to the castle, Bryce saw the fountain, the one where he and Iain used to play in when they were little and they and their parents would come down to celebrate the holidays with the townsfolk.

Bryce signaled the soldiers to stop for a moment, and he led Eleanor over to the fountain. He helped her to sit on the edge of the fountain, taking a moment to bend over and reach out to touch the cool liquid. He then told her about a few adventures in which he and Iain had partaken.

Eleanor smiled, looking down at the water, reaching into the pool. The coolness calmed her in a way she had not felt in a very, very long time. Taking a deep sigh, she looked up at Bryce and found him watching her with some concern. Smiling, she lifted the hand that had been in the water and placed it at his cheek. "I'm assuming by those stories you expect our children to do the same?"

His grin was sheepish, but pleased. "Something like that," he replied quietly. Reaching out for her hand, he helped her to her feet once more. "Shall we head to the castle now?" he asked, offering her his arm.

Eleanor laughed, looping her arm through his. They were dressed in armor, protected by a contingent of soldiers and headed towards her new home. Yet this man was constantly trying to make her feel at ease, loved and protected. For the first time since their relationship began, she truly felt safe, comfortable …. _loved._ "Lead on!" she told him.

* * *

As they passed through the gates of the castle, Eleanor couldn't help but find herself looking around in wonder. She knew the main purpose of a castle was for defense, but this one appeared to be quite functional as well, perhaps even more so than most other castles.

The moment he stepped inside the castle proper, Bryce felt the memories begin to wash over him: the servants' quarters where he and Iain used to play hiding games when they were small, the kitchen where he used to plead with the cook for a late meal after working all day training with the soldiers, the library where Aldous used to bore him and Iain during their lessons ….

Glancing down at Eleanor, who somehow managed to keep up with him and remain by his side, Bryce gave her a smile. "Just a bit further," he told her. It was late, the castle was quiet, indicating most of the staff must be at dinner or those who lived in town were readying to depart for the day if they had not already done so. Bryce knew that he was exhausted, Maker only knew how Eleanor managed to keep up with him given her condition, though she appeared to be fine. But Bryce felt an urgency that he could not ignore. It would not let him stop, not yet. Looking around once more, he thought, _I am home!_

Bryce stopped moving as they neared the dining hall and dismissed the men with whom he and Eleanor had traveled for the journey from Ostagar. "Jansen," Bryce said to one of the Highever men in the contingent, "get some food, rest, whatever you need. Tomorrow we'll begin recruiting more forces to support the king."

"Very well, my lord," the man replied. He signaled the others to follow, leaving Bryce and Eleanor alone.

He led her further into the castle, eventually turning into the library. For just a single solitary moment, Eleanor froze, feeling chills wash down her spine at the memory of the last time she had been in a library … and then they disappeared, Bryce gently guiding her beside him as he went through yet another door. In this room, they found an older man sitting behind a large desk, his graying head bent over gnarled hands that were busily writing in some kind of journal. His attention was held by the chore he was engaged in, until Bryce cleared his throat.

"My lord!" the man cried in recognition, rising to his feet.

Eleanor watched him walk around the desk, coming to stand in front of Bryce. Bryce's smile widened, his hand reaching out to grasp the elder man's. "Seneschal Dacen," Bryce greeted him. "It has been a very long time." Dacen straightened, nodding. At full height, he was only a bit taller than Bryce. Guiding Eleanor forward a step, Bryce continued, "Dacen, this is Eleanor … your new Teyrna Cousland."

Eleanor glanced up at him suddenly, his use of her new title impressing upon her the certainty of their future together.

"Welcome to Highever, my lady," Dacen greeted her with a welcoming smile, bowing slightly. Turning back to the Teyrn, he said simply, "My lord, I'm afraid you have us at a disadvantage at the moment. The staff –"

Bryce shook his head, waving the man off. "No, Dacen, let them be. We will have time for introductions and all of that later. We've been on the road for a week. All we need is a bed, some food, a hot bath …."

Dacen nodded. "I understand. I will see that it gets done." Turning to leave, the man stopped near the doorway. Addressing his lord, he said, "My lord, I – I need to speak with you soon, regarding the final wishes of your father."

Bryce felt Eleanor's eyes on him, her weary body leaning heavily against him. Giving her a quick squeeze, he suggested, "Dacen, why don't you walk with us? I need to get my wife to someplace where she can rest."

Dacen nodded. As they left the room and turned towards the private quarters, Bryce asked the man to recount the message from his father. "He simply said to tell you to remember your mother. She would be able to provide you with all you need, your inheritance."

Bryce frowned for a moment. Just as they reached the room, his late parents' room he remembered and supposed would now be his, it hit him. "Mother!" he gasped. "Maker, I'd almost forgotten!"

Eleanor was sitting on the edge of the bed when she looked up at him. "Forgotten what?"

His smile widened, and he sat beside her while Dacen quietly left the room to scrounge up a few servants to finish preparations for the new arrivals.

Pulling Eleanor close to him, he leaned his head against hers and murmured, "When Iain and I were younger, when the Rebellion was just an idea, and Maric and Queen Moira were still trying gather supporters; before all of those battles began; my father told us that if anything ever happened to him, or to us, and we were separated, whoever survived was to 'visit mother.' She would be the one to help us survive."

"What does that mean?" Eleanor asked.

Bryce smiled. "That means we will be paying her a visit soon."


	23. Memorials

_Over the past weekend, I was able to work out the ending to this story which will come over the next five chapters. Unfortunately, the flash drive on which I had EVERYTHING stored bit the dust last night. I have recovered these chapters and, I hope, in the final condition that I had them in! Thanks to my wonderful betas, __**Erynnar**__ and __**VioletTheirin**__ who do not throw emails and attachments away!_

_So, moving on, first I would like to thank my readers and reviewers for their ever constant support, as well as those who continue to add me to favs and story/author alerts! You guys make my day and inspire me to continue on. Also, very special shout out to __**MireliAmbar**__ who completely caught me off guard the other day by asking me a question referencing this story. Thank you, Sweetie! I hope the info helps with your wonderful tales!_

_Second, my every lasting love, affection and gratitude to my two betas, __**Erynnar**__ and __**VioletTheirin**__ who not only save my ass occasionally (see above) but keep me back from the edge of the cliff when reality hits. Oh, and they also do an awesome job as betas! You both rock my socks off! _

_Remember, as always, Bioware owns the playground … I just get to rearrange the toys the way I want them ….._

_

* * *

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It was a few days before Bryce could arrange the private visit to the family burial grounds where the memorials for the ancestors who came before could be found. He wanted it to be private so that he and Eleanor could have the time and space they needed to complete their grieving process.

During his preparations, Bryce met with the new Chantry priest, a novice who had arrived shortly after his departure from Highever for White River, who had joined his father's employ the year before Mother Sartina passing after a lengthy service dating back to his own grandfather. "It is a pleasure and an honor to meet you, my lord," Mallol greeted him.

Bryce smiled. The woman was young, barely out of her late teens if that. "I understand you arrived just after my departure from Highever two years ago?"

Mallol nodded, her dark hair shining in the candle light. "Yes. I was sent as a novice to Mother Sartina. Unfortunately, the good woman passed last year, shortly before your father, and I was … promoted?"

Bryce's eyebrow lifted. "And how has your … adjustment been? I would imagine things did not run so smoothly at first?"

Mallol actually chuckled. "Well, my lord, let me just say that where others had concerns, your father was all too quick to dispel them. And I suspect that we both know Malcolm Cousland was not a force to be challenged!"

Bryce laughed with her. "That he was," he agreed. Taking a moment to wander a bit around the small chapel, Bryce tried to find the words he needed in this moment. "Mallol," he finally ventured, "My wife and I would like to have a small private service at the family mausoleum for my father, and my brother."

Mallol nodded. "Yes, my lord, I can be of assistance with that." She sensed there was something else he wished to add by the pained expression in his eyes. "My lord?"

Bryce swallowed. This would be the first test. "Have you heard what befell my wife and I over the past two years?" he queried. He saw her nod. Of course, Dacen probably would have mentioned it to the staff, to keep innocent questions from becoming too painful. Sighing, he continued, "What you probably were not told is that my wife and I had a child." He saw Mallol's eyes widen. "We were handfasted, Mallol," he assured her. "The child, named Iain after his uncle, he was … killed as we fled the Orlesian soldiers …."

Mallol was wise enough to know this was an unusual situation, one that the Chantry might frown upon. But, given her rise to her current station, when she should still have been novice according to the Chantry rules, she was not going to complain. "You have his ashes?" she asked gently.

Bryce nodded, but said nothing. This was going to be more difficult than he had anticipated.

Mallol approached him, reached out and touched his arm. "My lord, I will be more than happy to offer a service for him if it will ease your mind and that of your lady?"

Bryce nodded again. He took a deep breath and finally managed, "When do you think you will be ready?"

"Tomorrow, my lord. I will ask Seneschal Dacen to let you know, we shall keep this private between us, yes?"

Bryce smiled again, though the smile failed to reach his eyes. "Your discretion is truly appreciated, Mother Mallol."

She smiled at him. "As is yours, my lord." When she saw his eyes dart up to hers, she realized the thought had not even occurred to him. _Yes,_ she thought, _this is where I shall dedicate myself to the Maker. I could do much worse than a family as accepting as this one._

_

* * *

_

Bryce was not surprised to see that it was raining the next afternoon when he and Eleanor, along with Dacen and Mallol, made their way up the hill to the family mausoleum. When they arrived, Dacen remained outside to warn away any who might take interest, not that they were expecting anyone, and Bryce and Eleanor followed Mallol inside.

The room was good sized, walls of stone with memorial plaques attached at certain points indicating Ash locations of many a Cousland ancestor. Bryce felt a strange sense of peace flow through him as he stepped inside. He and Mallol carried torches, which they placed in sconces near the doorway. All three were dressed with heavy cloaks to ward off the rain outdoors, and now to protect from the cold. Glancing around the room, Bryce looked for the familiar identities ….

"My lord," Mallol's soft voice interrupted, "your father is over here, near your mother and your brother…."

Eleanor's gasp echoed throughout the room. Her eyes searching Bryce's, she whispered, "Iain?"

"Your brother's body was returned after the battle," Mallol continued. "Arl Bryland sent troops back later to try and recover some of the bodies …."

Bryce grasped Eleanor's hand and pulled her to his side, then led her across the room. He located his mother's plaque … _Theresia Cousland, beloved wife and mother, gentle soul and loving companion._ Bryce closed his eyes at the words. It had been a long time since he had been here, visited the site and the memories. He reached out and traced the engraved words with calloused fingers. Sighing, he prayed silently, _Mother, I hope Father and Iain are with you now. I hope you keep watch over your grandson who never had a chance at life. I hope one day we can be together again, and you can meet the woman who, thanks to your early teachings, I was able to come to love as Father loved you._

Eleanor lifted her face to regard her husband, saw that his attentions were far away from her, Mallol and their purpose. She gave him a moment, suspecting that this strong man needed the time to gather himself for what was to come. She glanced down, saw the marker for Iain Cousland, and smiled. It had been a very long time since she had thought of him, and she almost felt guilty … but for the memory of his visitation in her dreams.

_You knew, didn't you?_ she thought as she knelt down beside the marker. _You knew that Bryce and I would find a love stronger than what we had, that our partnership would become both bound by love and respect._ She sighed heavily. _Iain, I loved you, but I love Bryce now. I honored our friendship, or relationship, as best I could. I hope you don't mind. _She felt the pouch in her pocket, covering it with her left hand. _I hope you can watch out for him._

Bryce squeezed her hand then, glancing down at her. Kneeling beside her for a moment, he paid silent tribute to his brother. Then he rose, assisting his wife. Turning back to Mallol, he gave her a sheepish smile and was about to say something when Mallol was quick to wave it off. "Shall we begin?" she asked instead.

Bryce glanced at Eleanor who nodded. "Please."

The service was short, but poignant, and Bryce found that he was relying on his contact with Eleanor to help him through the myriad of emotions that were breaking forth. He listened to the recitation of the Chant and heard interpretations he had not heard before, nor expected to notice this day. He wondered if, perhaps, his father had more influence on Mallol and her style than he had first thought.

When they finished paying tribute to Malcolm Cousland and his son Iain, Bryce reached to Eleanor for the ashes of their son. He had told his wife that Mallol was willing to give the child a proper tribute … and then held her as she cried in both relief and despair. Now, Eleanor seemed determined, though the grief was still ever present in her eyes, as she handed the small pouch of ashes to her husband.

Bryce handed the bag to Mother Mallol noticing as he did so that he, too, was reluctant. This was the final goodbye they had wanted, and yet …. Bryce felt Eleanor sob next to him as the service began. He pulled her into his arms, wrapping his tightly around her, holding her close as they allowed the final waves of grief leave. Mallol's voice was calming, soothing, and the verses she had chosen were more than appropriate. In the back of his mind, Bryce reminded himself to find the young woman an appropriate thank you for her kindness and consideration.

When she completed her recitations, Mallol glanced at the couple and smiled sadly. Moving slowly, quietly, she approached the wall and opened the small space that she had requested be created under Seneschal Dacen's supervision. Placing the bag of ashes inside, she lifted the small plaque and secured it. Turning back, she found that her lord and lady were still standing as she had left them. _Such a shame to lose one so young_, she thought. Silently shifting gears, Mallol sent a prayer to the Maker, she intoned, _Maker grant them the opportunity again. Do not let them suffer overlong. _ Turning, she departed the mausoleum and left them to their solitude.

Bryce heard Mallol leave, and was grateful she did not intrude. He turned to see the plaque in place now where it had not been before, and he led Eleanor over. _Iain, son of Bryce and Eleanor, the Maker's light and joy._

"Oh, Bryce!" Eleanor gasped upon reading the words.

He smiled into Eleanor's hair. "I think my father was extremely lucky to have been blessed with the woman when he was," he murmured. "Not only is she tolerant, but she is discreet and understanding."

Eleanor nodded, wiping her eyes. Kneeling beside the plaque, situated next to his uncle and beneath his grandfather, she placed her fingers over the words and silently said her final farewells. Bryce joined her.

When he rose again, he took a deep breath and swallowed hard. "Ok, Ellie, I need you to bear with me just a moment," he told her at last.

Eleanor, while straightening her cloak, frowned. "What do you mean?"

Bryce moved to his mother's plaque and felt around the edge. "Remember when I mentioned that my father told me I was to 'visit my mother' upon my return?"

Eleanor nodded, unsure of what he was hinting at. Then it hit her. "Her memorial!"

Bryce nodded, feeling the release he was looking for give way beneath his fingertips. The plaque shifted, sliding to the side, and opened the space behind. A jar containing his mother's ashes was forefront in the hollow, but Eleanor could see something glinting behind it … the torchlight reaching in just enough to catch the edge ….

Bryce gently pushed the jar to the side, hoping he could do this quickly and without Mallol or Dacen hearing, though he knew Dacen was aware. First, he retrieved Iain's shield, sliding it carefully through the space. Eleanor reached his side quickly and placed a hand upon the jar of ashes to keep it from falling. With a smile of appreciation, Bryce finished removing the item and leaned it against the wall. Then he reached in again, and soon was withdrawing a longsword, the likes of which Eleanor had never seen before. Once this was complete, Bryce replaced his mother's jar where it had been and replaced the plaque, hearing a soft _click_ as it slid into place.

Eleanor stepped back, watching as Bryce sheathed the family sword in his belt, not noticing until that moment that he had come unarmed, and then took the shield. both were made of fine silverite, shining brightly though having been entombed in the dank, damp depths. Bryce removed his cloak for a moment, handed it to Eleanor, and lifted the shield into position on his back. He retrieved the cloak then, and once it was adjusted he reached for Eleanor's arm. "Ready?" he asked softly.

Taking a deep breath, Eleanor nodded. "Yes." Arm in arm, they exited the mausoleum to join Mallol and Dacen on the walk back to the keep.

* * *

Later that afternoon, Bryce led Eleanor up to the ramparts of the castle, guiding her carefully around the circuit, pointing out the different viewpoints that could be seen from this height. They came to a halt near the front of the keep, looking down over the town below and the roads that led along the southwestern coast of the Waking Sea. "I used to come up here to think when I was a child," Bryce murmured. He stood behind her, pressing her gently against the wall, holding her tightly in his arms. "I always found it to be a peaceful place."

Eleanor smiled and leaned back against him. She was grateful for his presence, his thoughtfulness and the care and concern he continuously showed her. They had come a long way, both physically and emotionally, since their meeting after the battle of White River. The fears and concerns she had experienced over the months were now settled and she actively looked forward to their future together. Smiling softly to herself, she reached for Bryce's hand and placed it over where their child slept. She laughed slightly as she felt his hand tighten there. Patting his hand lightly, she leaned into his shoulder and stared out at the scene before them.

The rain and clouds had at last given way to some sunshine, though much was shielded by remaining clouds. Eleanor stared at the road leading beyond the town's gates, the rays shining down as if the Maker was sending them a signal of some sort ….

Straightening, Eleanor shielded her eyes with her hands and pointed. "Bryce, what is that?" she asked.

"Hmmm?" he returned, directing his gaze to where she indicated. Squinting, he too raised a hand to block the sun from his eyes. "Looks like a rider," he replied near her ear, tightening his arm around her ever so slightly. He shrugged. Probably a visitor to one of the merchants or something?"

Eleanor said nothing, but remained watching the tiny speck as it continued to move towards Highever. The progression was not slow, nor was it fast. It was some time later when Eleanor watched it enter the gates at the far end of town, … and then she lost it as it turned down the myriad of streets. Sighing, she allowed her gaze to drift for a time, almost requesting that Bryce lead her back down the stairs to the keep below at one point, when she noticed a disturbance at the gate to the keep's courtyard below.

Leaning out, she felt Bryce's hand at her shoulder, holding her steady, and she watched as the as two riders entered: one upon a beautiful grey animal while the other was astride a darker animal beside it …. _How many grey/dark horse combinations are there in Ferelden,_ she wondered silently, _and how many would know to come here …._ With a sudden gasp of recognition, Eleanor broke from Bryce's grasp and turned towards the stairs.

Bryce was surprised by the suddenness of her movements, and the fact that she didn't even speak to him as she left. Trailing after her quickly, he followed her down the stairs, throughout the keep and into the courtyard as the rider trotted into view. "Nan!" he heard his wife call in delight, running over to her friend and companion as she was quick to halt the animals and dismount. With a smile of recognition at the woman and the guard who accompanied her, Bryce signaled one of his men forward to take the animals to the stables.

Stepping forward, he found his wife embracing her friend, tears of delight rolling down her cheeks. He saw that Nan was patting Eleanor's shoulders, both were talking over each other, and from what he could follow they seemed to be understanding the other well enough. "Welcome to Highever, Nan."

Nan glanced up at the Teyrn, nodding at him in respect. "My lord," she greeted him. She gave him a cheeky smile and saw him grin back. They might not have known each other well before Eleanor and Bryce had fled, but Bryce could tell that the woman understood him well enough. "I have been sent by King Maric," she continued. "Something about fond memories of our presence?"

Eleanor laughed then, a delighted sound that Bryce had not heard for a very long time. "Come inside with me and I will explain how our soon-to-be sovereign almost mistook us for each other!"

Shaking his head, Bryce turned towards the man at arms who had accompanied the woman. He recognized Maric's device emblazoned on the man's shield. "Surely it was not just the two of you?" he queried, leading the man indoors.

The man chuckled. "If the woman had had her way it would have been, but no, my lord. Bann Galen sent one of his men along with us. He had relatives in Highever town, so we agreed to leave him off there."

Bryce nodded. Walking the man towards the kitchens, he gestured towards a doorway and told him, "Tell the cook I asked for her to provide you with a meal. When must you leave?"

"My lord, the king would have me meet up with him near Redcliffe in a month's time. After that I believe he will head towards Denerim within another month."

Bryce nodded. "If you would like to stay and rest up, please feel free. I can direct you to Seneschal Dacen for further instructions. If you have family of your own you need visit before reuniting with the king, then you are free to leave at your own convenience."

The man seemed startled, but he nodded. "I – I do have a sister at Rainesfere," he murmured. "I thank you, my lord! I will accept your hospitality for the night and leave for her residence in the morning."

Bryce nodded and parted ways with the man. Frowning slightly, he wondered where he might find his wife and her companion. Some time, and several rooms later, he found them in his and Eleanor's private chambers, sitting near the fire talking. For a long moment, he simply stood in the doorway and watched. Eleanor was animated, telling Nan of her adventures with him for the past two years. Nan glanced up at him slightly, smiling at Eleanor, but her look telling him a thing or two. Bryce almost laughed, but managed to swallow the emotion. Instead, he nodded at the woman, hoping that she realized that he and Eleanor were happy together.

Eleanor realized that her husband must be in the room when Nan's eyes drifted away. When Nan's gaze returned, a look of satisfaction settling there, she guessed that Bryce had left. "He is my husband, you know," she murmured.

Nan sniffed. "We shall see just what kind of husband he is, I think," she replied indifferently.

Eleanor smiled. "I'm so glad to see you again, Nan," she breathed.

Nan leaned forward and took her friends' hands in her own. Squeezing them in understanding, she told her, "And I am glad to see you. We have a lot to talk about, yes?"

Eleanor nodded. "Yes, my friend, that we do. Shall I start with our escape from my father's holdings?"

Nan's grin said it all, and Eleanor soon found herself wound up in the tale of her and Bryce's journey for the past two years.


	24. Siege Mentality

_Thanks to all my readers, reviewers and those who continue to set favs and alerts! You are simply awesome and make my day sooooo much better! Ask my betas, they always see how excited I get with my reviews and alerts!_

_Speaking of my betas, everlasting thanks and appreciation to __**Erynnar**__ and __**VioletTheirin**__ for their assistance, their brilliant ideas and suggestions and their willingness to chat all the time about ideas! You guys are the best friends I could hope for and you keep the writer's block at bay!_

_As always, Bioware owns it all … Much of what comes in this chapter and the next is based on loose references found in Mr. Gaider's __**The Stolen Throne**__. No one specifically mentions what happens to Meghren … except that he is killed in a duel with Maric and his head is placed on a pike. Just like the rest of this story, these events are my interpretation of what happened ….._

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* * *

_

"If you honestly think you are leaving me behind at this late date, you are insane!"

Bryce sighed, rising from his desk in the study where Eleanor had cornered him. He was making final preparations for the trip to Denerim, to join his forces with the king's in the last battle, so they hoped, to defeat the Usurper. He knew she would fight him on this, so he was not completely surprised that she was here arguing her position. "I cannot protect you and our child if you are in the thick of battle, now can I?" he asked reasonably.

Eleanor glared at him. "I can protect myself and our child just fine!" she told him with authority. When he chuckled, she glared.

Bryce realized his mistake quickly. Backing off, he held his hands up in a gesture of surrender. "Where are you going to find armor to fit you?" he asked. "Ellie, you are six months along, more possibly. How on earth can you consider –!"

Eleanor strode forward until she was standing directly in front of him, her face nearly in his. "You will _not_ leave me behind!" she told him fiercely.

Sighing, Bryce reached out and grasped her hands, one in each of his. Pulling her close, he shifted until she was in his arms, "I had no intention of leaving you behind," he finally admitted to her. At his words, he felt the tenseness in her frame suddenly evaporate. "You, and Nan, will be coming, though I will insist that you do _not_ participate in the battles we will surely face."

Eleanor now sighed. Leaning her head against Bryce's chest, she nodded slowly. She hated that he was right in this, but she knew it was for the safety of their family. "Agreed," she murmured.

Bryce smiled at the reluctance he heard in her voice, but the fact that she had agreed, he felt, was a step in the right direction. Reaching into his pocket with his right hand, he grasped her left hand with the same. Pulling out a small velvet pouch, he opened the closure and emptied the contents into her hand. "Ellie," he murmured near her ear, "I want to tell you something."

Eleanor lifted her head to look into eyes as blue as the Waking Sea. "What?" she asked softly. A moment later, she felt something cool, something in the palm of her hand. Glancing down, she found a pair of rings, one sized for each of them, made from silverite and designed with an intricate pattern of leaves and vines that ran its way around the circumference of each; the pattern was one that never began and never ended. Gasping in delight, she lifted her hand to view them more closely. As she turned it, she could see the tiniest detail on each of the leaves, the veins and blades. Then, when she turned it once more, she noticed something else … _Bryce & Eleanor Forever united._ Gasping in shock, she checked the other ring and found the exact same design and message. "Bryce?" she breathed in confusion.

Bryce moved quickly, realizing that it wouldn't be often he had her at a loss for words as he did now. Taking the ring meant for her, he slid it down her finger until it settled into position. Lifting the other, he placed it in her long, slender fingers. When she finally realized what he was about, he smiled and gave her his own hand. She still seemed in a daze as she echoed his previous movements. Then, he kissed her lightly and murmured, "I know that I don't tell you often enough, or have been showing you as I should, but I do love you, Eleanor Muir, and I would marry you every day between now and the day we die if it would ease your mind."

Eleanor lifted her hand, the one with the new ring, to her mouth. She felt the cool metal against her lips, almost comforting in its presence. "Bryce, I don't need adornments like this!" she told him honestly. "All I need …."

He lifted her by her chin until she looked at him. "Yes?"

"All I need is you …."

Smiling, he leaned his forehead against hers. "Ellie, you will have me until the day the Maker takes us from each other. Even then, I am not sure he would dare separate us!"

Eleanor smiled through tears of happiness, and accepted the kiss he gave her then. "I wouldn't want it any other way," she told him then.

* * *

Eleanor dressed in her new battle gear, specially made by an armorer in the town of Highever for her gradually increasing girth, and armed with her bow and daggers. The last of the packing for the trip was going on just before their departure. Eleanor glanced around the room she and Bryce shared one last time, making sure she had all that she wanted, when her eyes came upon a canvas-wrapped package near the door. Satisfied with all else, she walked over to retrieve the item and carried it to the cart that Bryce insisted she would ride in. He glanced down at her from his position loading the vehicle. He accepted the bundle she handed up and frowned. "What is this?"

Eleanor gave him an even look. "Marianne's bow. Since you will not let me fight, I thought perhaps to find her cousin."

Bryce accepted the package gently, reverently, and secured it inside the cart. Then lowering himself to his wife's side, he gave her a hug. "I think that would be a splendid idea, though difficult," he told her.

Eleanor smiled. "I made a promise, Bryce. I have to try." He nodded again and did not try to dissuade her. Eleanor for her part was pleasantly surprised. She had hoped he would agree. Turning to the cart, she allowed him to assist her up into the seat. She was spending the trip with one or another of the guards driving the cart, while Nan would be riding her mount, Griffon. Eleanor had asked Bryce to take her own mount, as she was unable to ride him, knowing that all things considered, it would be safer to have Titan with them, even with a different rider, than to leave him alone in the stables here at Highever. As Eleanor had explained, Griffon and Titan were inseparable. The one time they had been apart, Titan had kicked down his stall and run after his mate.

As soon as she was settled in her seat, Eleanor found Nan approaching her. She handed over a sack that, from the smell of it, contained fresh bread and jerked meat. "That should last you the day," Nan teased, tossing a second, lighter sack to the guard.

Eleanor laughed. Nan moved on then, and Bryce reappeared, this time atop Titan. Silently, Eleanor watched as he settled into his saddle, adjusted the cinches as necessary and spoke quietly to the animal. Within moments, they were moving smoothly as he approached the cart. With a smile, Eleanor murmured, "You look as if you have been riding him for years, my lord!"

Bryce blushed slightly. She occasionally would tease him by using his title, knowing what his reaction would be. "Are you ready?" he asked.

Eleanor nodded. "As I ever will be."

A moment later, Bryce called for the troops to begin their march out. The journey to the final battle had begun.

* * *

They met up with Maric's army just inside of the city gates. Bryce left his men to make camp, Nan assisting with the establishment of the Teyrn and Teyrna's tent, and he and Eleanor went in search of the king. A short while later, they were brought into an audience with him, Loghain and the queen.

"Bryce!" Maric exclaimed, glancing up as the couple entered the pavilion. "Glad to see you could make it!"

Bryce grinned. "I wouldn't miss it, Maric," he told him. He almost chuckled when the king's grin widened even more at Bryce's use of his name instead of title. "We've fought too long and hard not to see it through."

Maric nodded, gesturing both into the room. He walked over and greeted Eleanor, lifting her hand to his lips. "Eleanor, I am pleased you could join us," he told her. "Or perhaps I should say, the both of you could join us?"

Eleanor blushed. "Thank you," she replied. Walking further into the room, Eleanor caught Loghian's gaze and nodded a greeting. The man's smirk was his usual, and all she would get from him, she knew. Turning her gaze to the queen, Eleanor saw the woman smiling at her. She too was dressed in armor, her weapons ready at her side.

Maric gestured towards the map laid out upon the table in front of them. "This is the current situation," he explained. "Meghren and his few remaining supporters are holed up in the palace at the moment, though I expect he will make a run for it at any time." He pointed towards the dock area. "I would think he has a ship waiting, but our intelligence is limited now that we have him cornered." Maric gestured Loghain forward at this point. "Why don't you explain your plan," the king suggested.

For the next half hour, Loghain did just that. He identified where the worst concentrations of enemy troops were located, possible paths of retreat, and locations of their forces for attack. "Our intention is to force him into Fort Drakon, to put him under siege and wait for his surrender," Loghain finished, "unless we can capture or kill him first."

Bryce nodded, examining the map closely. "Right. We will position ourselves here," he indicated a point on the map, "in the morning. From there we can take here," another point, "and here. How long do you imagine this campaign to take?"

Loghain gave a long, hard look at his king before responding, "We are facing tactics that our men are unused to," he explained. At the questioning look, he clarified, "Most of our fighting will have to be done street to street, house to house. I'm sure we can expect some help from the local residents … Maker knows they will be glad to see the Orlesian bastards gone. However, as it stands now, the only area we have cleared is here, through the Market District," he pointed to the majority of the northern side of the city. "Almost everything north of the river is cleared out. Our next major task is to secure the bridges."

Bryce sighed. "We're looking at weeks then," he stated.

"Possibly longer, but yes."

Bryce glanced at his wife, noted her smile of encouragement, and then turned towards his king and queen. "We'd best get started then, hadn't we?"

Maric grinned back at his friend. "Better words were never spoken, my friend."

* * *

The days dragged on into weeks as expected. The first week alone, Bryce kept his forces back save for his specialized rogues who would sneak across the bridges, scouting out the situation on the other side and connecting up with rebel supporters. During the second week, the actual fighting began. While Bryce was away with his men, Eleanor spent her days with the injured Highever troops, assisting the healing mages Maric had assigned them and doing whatever she could to keep busy. She also did what she could to remain away from the other troops assigned to Bryce: those of Arl Bryland and Rendon Howe. Though not so afraid of the man any longer, Eleanor did not want anything to distract Bryce from his current focus.

As the days wore on, Eleanor was finding it more and more difficult to keep her promise to Bryce, to remain out of the fighting. She did not want to go back on her word, but she was finding the lack of specific duties problematic. She knew that when she wasn't occupied, she would worry.

She found Nan one morning, well into the third week of the campaign, and told her, "I'm going to the brewery today. We are running low on ale and I know of one that should still be open. It isn't too far from here either."

Nan nodded. "Let me get my things and I will go with you."

Eleanor sighed before nodding reluctantly. It was for her own safety, she supposed, but she still did not like the idea of having to rely on Nan for her protection. But, she was being allowed to leave the camp, so she was not going to argue. She dressed in normal clothing which did nothing to protect her from any weapons, but did make her pregnant form look a bit more … normal.

They were soon on their way, chatting with each other while Eleanor occasionally glanced at the directions that had been "written out" but was really only a rough map with a few numbers on it. They made a few turns, walked a number of blocks, and soon Eleanor felt Nan's worried gaze upon her. "Nan, give it a rest!" she told her friend. "It's not like a little bit of exercise will hurt the babe! I told you, the last time I was carrying I was trekking through the Frostbacks!"

"Well you aren't in the Frostbacks this time, are you then?" Nan retorted.

Eleanor rolled her eyes and increased her pace, whether in an effort to prove to Nan or herself that she was fine, she never was sure. When they rounded the next corner, Eleanor noted that they were now traversing buildings along the riverbank. "We must be close," she said to Nan, pointing to the Drakon River below.

"What is the name of this place again?"

"_Aylesleigh's Ales_," Eleanor told her. "Supposedly they have a sign out front …."

"There," Nan said, pointing to a rather large building half a block ahead of them. She took a large sniff of the air around them. "Can't you smell them?"

Eleanor laughed, but said nothing. Tucking the slip of paper into a pocket, she led Nan inside. There was an office off to the left side, but it was empty when Eleanor glanced inside. She supposed that whomever she was looking for would be out on the main floor. Stepping further into the building, she began calling out, "Hello?" This she repeated a few times until she spotted a man about her age walking in her direction. His smile was genuine and broad, his eyes dark and his hair, a deep auburn, was plastered to his face. Obviously, this was a man who worked in the brewery itself. He was also wearing an apron that had seen better days.

"Good morning, ladies, and welcome to _Aylesleigh's Ales_. How may I serve?"

Eleanor couldn't help but smile at his pleasant nature. "I have come on behalf of Teyrn Cousland to arrange additional supplies of ale for his men," she explained.

The man nodded. "Of course, of course," he told them. He gestured them back in the direction of the front of the building, into the office area where they could sit. "I apologize for the lack of organization you find us in today," he explained. "Given all the recent … activity within the city, we are short staffed and Mr. Ayelsleigh himself has been … recruited into the ranks of the king's service."

Wisely, Eleanor did not ask which king. She stuck with business, explaining the needs of the Teyrn. Once concluded, she sat back for a moment and regarded the man in front of her. "You mentioned that Master Aylesleigh was now in service to the king," she began, "does that mean you are in charge of the brewery now?"

He smiled. "Only for so long as he is away, I suppose. I'm simply a journeyman brewer. I hope someday to own my own place, but more of a tavern than a brewery I think." With a sudden thought, he added, "The name is Cyril, by the way. Pardon my manners. Aside from the brewery to keep running, I've other issues of a more personal nature on my mind."

"Is there something I can help with?" Eleanor found herself asking. _I must be desperate for something to do if I am offering to help him with his love life!_ she thought.

Cyril smiled sadly. "I wish it were that simple, my lady. Unfortunately, I fear it is not."

Eleanor gave him a sympathetic look. "As you can tell by my condition," she said while placing a hand at her waist, "I am not a soldier in the current battles. I have plenty of time on my hands in which I might be able to assist … if you would like."

Cyril smiled, a brief glimpse of hope in his dark eyes. "I … my girl is employed by one of the noble ladies from King Meghren's court," he began. When he saw her look darken, he added quickly, "No, no … she is Ferelden. At least, she was born here. Her parents were Orlesian, but she was born and raised here and her loyalty is here."

Eleanor nodded. "Continue," she told him.

"We are promised to each other, and until the invasion of the city, we were together, her lady allowing me to stay in return for a daily supply of ale, assistance on her estate, the usual." Cyril actually blushed a bit. "She may be an Orlesian," he added gently, "but she loves the Ferelden ale!"

Nan actually chuckled at this. Eleanor gave her friend a glance, but said nothing.

"However, since King Maric's forces moved in and took over this side of the river, I have been unable to get home to them. I have no way of communicating with them, to let them know I am safe or to even know if they are safe."

Eleanor nodded in understanding. "I can make you no promises," she told him softly, "but if you would give me the directions to their home, I will try."

Cyril's worried expression eased somewhat at her words. He found a blank piece of parchment and drew out a map for her, labeling their current location, the bridges near the main gate and the location of the estate on the southern side of the river. "The estate belongs to Lady Cecilie. Amélie is my …." Cyril's voice trailed off as he noticed Eleanor freeze. "My lady, are you ill?" he asked suddenly, rising to his feet to rush to her side.

Eleanor shook her head. "No," she reassured him, "I am not ill … just a bit … stunned! Amélie is your lady? Cousin to Marianne Desmarais?"

Now it was Cyril's turn to be surprised. "You know Marianne?" he breathed, kneeling beside her. Vaguely, he saw the other woman give him a hard look, but he was too winded by Eleanor's words to worry.

Eleanor reached out to touch Cyril's hand. "Marianne and I became good friends before she was killed."

Cyril groaned. Shaking his head, he glanced down at the floor. "I was afraid of that. For a time after she left we occasionally received word from her or about her, but it had been so long …." He rose then to his feet and returned behind the desk. "Amélie will take this very hard," he murmured.

Eleanor smiled in understanding. "One of my goals during my time here was to find Amélie. Marianne asked me to deliver something to her, her dying wish if you will."

Cyril nodded. "Amélie and Marianne were very close," he explained. "This will hit her very hard." Taking a deep breath, he looked back at Eleanor and gave her a tentative smile. "My lady, I appreciate that you would be willing to try to find my Amélie. I know many of the nobles are fleeing the city, and I do not want her thinking I have abandoned her to her fate."

Eleanor rose then, a smile upon her lips. "If I should find her, I will let her know that she is to stay … at all costs."

Cyril smiled. "Thank you, my lady. Maker guide your path."

Eleanor was silent on the walk back to the camp. Nan continuously tried to engage her in conversation, but she was busy thinking of how she might be able to find Amélie and Lady Cecilie. When they reached the camp, Eleanor delivered the news and arrangements for the ale to the quartermaster in charge of feeding the troops before heading back to the tent she shared with Bryce. She had some planning to do, and her best chance of the peace and quiet she needed for that was alone.

* * *

_**A/N:** Okay, I know that some of you are thinking that realistically a noblewoman such as Eleanor probably would never have gone to the brewery to make arrangements for ale supples for Bryce's troops. However, there are several reasons for this:_

_1. She's promised to stay out of the fighting _

_2. She's bored out of her mind because of that promise_

_3. It works for the plot._

_I apologize ahead of time for those who are not accepting of the idea. All I can say is that if it were the Middle Ages (of which I have years of study and a piece of paper from the University of Wyoming stating I am a Master in), and my husband was a Lord off fighting and I was with the troops and they were running low on ale, I would go and make the arrangements for the following reasons: bored out of my mind, the troops need to be kept happy, it would make it easier on my husband who was leading his troops. _


	25. Death of a Tyrant

_Thanks to all my readers, reviewers and those who have added me and my story to their alerts and favs, especially nubbins who joined since my last posting. Welcome! I hope you continue to enjoy!_

_Eternal thanks as always to my betas without whom I don't think I could keep on doing this! To Erynnar and VioletTheirin, you ladies rock my world while keeping me in line! Thank you both!_

_As always, Bioware owns it all … except for what I make up …._

_

* * *

_

That evening, Bryce found her in the tent. It was late, but he always tried to make it back to the camp if only to reassure his wife that he was safe. Entering the pavilion, he found her resting on a cot, half asleep. He changed out of his armor and into something more comfortable before approaching her. "Ellie?" he whispered, reaching out to brush loose strands of her ebony waves away from her face.

"Mmmmm?" she mumbled, stretching like a contented cat.

Bryce chuckled. "Eleanor, it's me," his voice slightly louder.

Eleanor's eyes popped open and she bolted upright suddenly, banging her forehead into his chin. "Ow!" she cried, smacking a hand to the inured area. "Oh! Bryce!"

A hand to his chin analyzing his own injury, Bryce gave her a small smile. "Woman, you have a hard head!"

Eleanor laughed. It was a testament to their strengthening relationship that she could do so readily now when before she might have been more concerned that he was upset with her. "So I've been told," she returned.

Bryce reached out to grasp her chin, turning her so he could give her a hearty kiss. "I can stay only a short time, my love," he told her. "We are very close to having control of the palace and the Arl of Denerim's estates."

Eleanor thought for a moment. "Is it working then?" she asked. "Is he withdrawing to Fort Drakon?"

Bryce nodded. "Loghain, Maric and the bulk of the army have crossed the eastern bridges, cutting off Meghren's access to the docks. They are allowing some of the nobles and others through, those who have passage on ships out to Orlais, but the Usurper cannot pass. My sources are trailing his every move … he is making for the prison."

Eleanor breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank the Maker!" Reaching a hand out, she allowed him to assist her to her feet. Once upright, she gave him an appraising look, noting the new cuts, scratches and other minor injuries he now sported. Beyond that, he seemed no worse for wear. "When do you go back?"

Bryce pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her. "Too soon," he admitted, murmuring near her ear, "but not before I get to spend some quality time with my wife and child."

Eleanor felt the warmth of his breath near her neck and groaned. "Quality time, eh?" she challenged.

Bryce's smile widened just before he lifted her into his arms, carrying her over to the double sized cot they usually shared. "Oh, yes," he told her as he lay down beside her.

Eleanor closed her eyes as she felt his hands move around her waist, drawing her to him. "Hmmmm," she breathed. "I think I like the sound of that …."

* * *

The next she opened her eyes, Eleanor found Bryce donning his familiar heavy chainmail, the Highever crest embossed in the chestplate. Smiling up at him, she simply lay there watching, enjoying the view as he buckled the straps into place with practiced ease, noting to herself that he cut quite the dashing figure in his armor. Before adding his sword, shield and helm, he turned to face her. "Like what you see?" he queried cheekily.

Eleanor grinned, successfully banishing the blush that would have usually crept up her neck. "Very much, my husband," she replied. She saw him pause a moment, and frowned. "Bryce? What is it?"

Bryce walked over and assisted her to her feet, wrapping the blanket around her body to keep the chill away. Cupping her chin, he lifted her gaze to his and said, "You called me husband. I think I like the way the word rolls off your tongue …."

Eleanor did blush this time, dipping her head. "I-I'm sorry I don't say it more often …."

Bryce's hands grasped her shoulders gently. "Nonsense," he assured her. "It's just something we need to get used to is all." Turning then, he reached for his helm and arms. "We are moving camp to the south side of the river today," he informed her. "If you and Nan would oversee the movement of our things …."

Eleanor smiled and stepped forward to kiss him. "Of course," she replied.

Bryce held her close for a long moment, simply staring down into her emerald depths. "Be careful, my love," he told her. "We have cleared things, yes, but there is always the chance of a hidden Orlesian supporter somewhere."

Eleanor rested her head against his shoulder, squeezing him tight. "You will be more of a target than I," she told him, "but I will wear the armor, just to keep your mind at ease."

Bryce chuckled. Kissing the top of her head, he told her, "It would do that." Straightening, he released her and said, "Right. I've got to go. I will see you tonight I hope. If not, I will send word."

Eleanor smiled for his benefit, but she was surprised at the momentary sense of panic she felt at the thought. Shortly after he left, she turned towards her dressing area and prepared for the day.

* * *

Nan arrived with breakfast a short time later, carrying in the tray of various fruits, cereals, cheeses and breads. Eleanor shook her head, knowing that the men were not eating this well, but Nan and Bryce had both agreed that as an expectant mother, she needed things that the men did not.

While nibbling on bits of food, Eleanor asked, "When do we strike camp, do you know?"

Nan nodded. "As soon as we are finished here," she said, then placed a hand on Eleanor's shoulder when she would have risen, "and I do mean finished."

Eleanor sighed and sat back to finish her meal. If she fought Nan on it, the woman would be her shadow all damned day. If Eleanor pretended to cede to her wishes, she might have a chance to break away in the confusion of the move.

Unfortunately for Eleanor, the move was conducted without too much confusion, thus she never had the opportunity to lose her shadow, as she referred to Nan these days. It took the better part of the day, but they crossed the newly taken territory and re-established the camp before the afternoon was out. A messenger arrived in early evening, telling Eleanor that the Teyrn would not be returning to camp that evening, but that he was well, and would soon be joining forces with King Maric and Loghain. Satisfied that she had received all the information she could, Eleanor dismissed him to the mess tent where he could catch a meal before returning to Bryce's side.

The next two days were a blur for Eleanor as she watched both the local Orlesian nobles fleeing the city, carrying with them what they could, and Arl Bryland's and Rendon Howe's men begin to enter the fray. Now that they had crossed the river and were closing in on the Usurper, everyone was needed.

Eleanor stepped outside of her tent several days after the move to find a flurry of activity going on about her. Stopping one soldier, she asked, "What is all the commotion?"

"The queen!" he gasped. "Queen Rowan is coming to visit you, my lady!"

Eleanor gasped. This she had not expected. Rowan, Eleanor knew, was an accomplished soldier in her own right. Eleanor had fully expected the woman to be with Maric in their assault on the city and later on Fort Drakon. But to visit the Teyrn's camp when he was not there?

"I see you have been forewarned?"

Eleanor was startled by the familiar voice that appeared behind her. Spinning around, she gasped as she spied the queen dressed in full battle gear, "You-your Majesty!"

Rowan quickly grasped Eleanor by the wrist. "No formalities, my friend," she insisted. "Maric holds your husband in the deepest regard, as do I, and therefore you."

Eleanor could only nod, swallowing past a lump in her throat.

"Now then, I only wanted to stop by to see how you fared. I remember all too well the latter stages of carrying Cailan and I wanted to assure myself that your needs are being met."

Eleanor couldn't help the snort that overcame her. "My apologies your –" she saw the woman frown, "Rowan. My husband thinks I need a keeper and refuses to allow me near the fighting. In that sense, then I suppose I am faring … well? I am safe at any rate."

Rowan laughed. "Yes, I can see that," she teased. "Have they informed you yet? The Usurper is barricaded in Fort Drakon as Loghain predicted."

"No!" Eleanor shouldn't have been surprised by this, but a part of her was. "I had not heard."

Rowan smiled at her. "Yes, I suppose your husband is rather busy at the moment. Meghren has been holed up in there for the past five or six days. He's chosen a siege, as Maric had hoped, and while he cowers there, his friends and supporters flee the city." Glancing over at the other woman, Rowan announced, "I am headed to Fort Drakon myself, actually. Would you like me to deliver a message to your husband for you?"

A flurry of things rushed through her mind at that moment, but she simply replied, "I thank you for your kindness, Rowan, but simply tell him I wish him luck and pray that the Maker keeps him safe."

Rowan smiled. "No better message can I think of," she replied quietly. Again she reached out, this time squeezing Eleanor's arm affectionately. "Now, then," the woman continued with a conspiratorial wink, "shall we get you into your armor and head on up towards the action?"

Eleanor was startled for a moment, but realized that this was the opportunity she had been waiting for. Returning the smile and the gesture to her queen, Eleanor murmured, "Your wish is my command, _your Majesty_." Both women laughed at that until they had tears running down their cheeks. After a moment longer, she called, "Nan? Get my armor. We are headed into battle. We've been conscripted by the queen!"

* * *

Eleanor walked beside the queen as they marched along the road leading towards the prison. Fort Drakon itself was built into the side of a mountain, and the road gradually climbed to the point of entry. Rowan had signaled the main body of her forces on ahead, so that she might walk with Eleanor who at both the queen's and Nan's insistence, took it easy. They were too close to the end now to risk losing the child.

As they passed the various housing areas, side streets and alleyways, Eleanor watched in detached fascination at the sheer number of people trying to flee even at this late date. Though none of Maric's troops made threatening gestures or intimations, the people who saw them would cry out, mostly in Orlesian, and begin running in the direction of the docks.

It was as they were beginning the first southward turn on the road that Eleanor heard a heavily accented Orlesian voice saying, "Dépêches-toi, Amélie! Nous ne voulons pas manqué le bateau!" _[Hurry up, Amélie! We don't want to miss the boat!]_

Eleanor froze in her movements so suddenly, she had both Rowan and Nan turning to look at her with concern. Glancing at Nan, Eleanor grasped her friends wrist and whispered, "Did you hear that?"

"Ellie, what -?"

Then another, lighter voice called out above the din. "Je suis ici, Dame Cecilie! Je viens!" _[I am here, Lady Cecilie! I'm coming!]_

Turning, Eleanor began to head off after the voices. Nan grasped her arm quickly. "El, no! You can't!" Nan turned towards the queen and explained the situation.

During her friend's distraction, Eleanor was able to break free and began moving as quickly as she could after the women. She trailed after them for a quarter of an hour at least, occasionally hearing pieces of conversation floating across the breeze. Behind her, she could hear Nan trying to catch up with her, calling her name. Eleanor knew she was running out of time.

Rounding yet another corner, she heard the voices again. Stopping, she raised her voice above the din and shouted, "Amélie!"

In the distance, Eleanor saw a young woman stop and turn, a questioning look on her face. For just a moment, their gazes caught … and locked. Taking a chance, she shouted, "Amélie, attendez! Cyril est sûr! S'il vous plait ne laissez pas!" _[Amélie, wait! Cyril is safe! Please don't leave!]_

Eleanor could see the girl struggle with the choice. As she turned, looking after Lady Cecilie's retreating figure, Eleanor then noticed that she was pregnant. "Amélie, non! Restez ici!" _[Amélie, no! Stay here!]_ Eleanor started heading in the woman's direction, but saw that the Lady Cecilie was speaking to Amélie softly. Marianne's cousin gave Eleanor a sad look before turning and hurrying off with the Orlesian noble.

Eleanor felt despair, felt as if she was letting down Cyril and Amélie as well as Marianne. Nan caught up with her then, sliding an arm around Eleanor's shoulders as the Teyrna began sobbing. "Oh, Nan," she gasped, "I've failed them all!"

"Nonsense!" Nan told her, turning and leading her back in the direction they had come. "Now come along … we can't leave the queen waiting, can we?"

Eleanor realized then just what she had done. "Oh, Maker's Breath!" she gasped, her eyes darting to her friend's.

Nan chuckled. "Don't worry yourself," she assured Eleanor. "Our Queen Rowan is a very understanding woman."

They found the queen with some of her private guards waiting for them near the bend in the road. When Rowan spied them, she moved forward quickly, grasping Eleanor's shoulders in her capable hands. "Are you quite all right?" she asked. "Nan told me why you left, but you look as if you are ill…."

Eleanor shook her head. After a moment, she managed, "I-I am so sorry, Rowan, to have abused our relationship in such a way! I -!"

Rowan shook her head firmly. "Nonsense. You had a mission to accomplish and you tried to do so. Am I to assume by your crestfallen look that you did not succeed?"

Eleanor shook her head. "I did not."

Rowan sighed. "Such a shame," she sympathized. Straightening, she added, "We must hurry, however, if we are to be there at the end. I have had some news since you left; news that requires us to hurry now. Are you able?"

Eleanor could not contain her worry, but Rowan gave her shoulders one more quick squeeze before releasing her. "Not for Bryce, my dear," she hurriedly assured her. She began the explanation as she, Eleanor, Nan and the others continued their climb.

* * *

To say that Eleanor was in shock at the turn of events was an understatement. The women burst onto the roof of Fort Drakon just as Maric and Meghren were positioning themselves to begin. Rowan led the others around until they stood beside Bryce and Loghain. Both men appeared agitated, and Eleanor could well imagine why. Rowan herself had cursed her husband more than once as they climbed through the Fort, mostly for his naïve sense of fair play. But, as Eleanor had pointed out, Meghren was an egotistical maniac who was not capable of believing that he could lose. Not knowing his own weakness, Eleanor had continued, would be his downfall. After her comments, Rowan had given the Teyrna a glowing look of respect, and then hustled their pace once more.

Eleanor swallowed hard as she saw Bryce glance her way. His focus was on his king, or at least it should have been, but he gestured her forwards to stand beside him. She glanced around and saw many familiar faces: Arls Bryland, Howe and other she did not recognize, some of the Banns familiar to Eleanor through her father's connections, and many of the troops from Maric's forces. There were over a hundred, perhaps as many as two, all surrounding the claimants to the throne who were now squaring off for a final duel.

Maric stood straight and tall, his sword and shield at the ready. He had been fighting for years, ever since his mother's murder, to take his rightful place on the throne of Ferelden. Meghren, slightly taller than Maric and a good ten years older, presented an imposing figure as well. It was well known by those who were friend and foe alike that Meghren's only real experience with weaponry came at the hands of the chevaliers who trained him: men loyal to both king and emperor, but who also knew better than to endanger their sovereign's life by teaching him anything other than tournament style combat.

Both men began moving, circling each other, shifting positions as the other did, trying to feel out for any advantage. This continued for several minutes until Meghren, in his conceit and impatience, struck first. He launched his attack with a swipe of his shield in Maric's direction, followed by an overhand arcing slice with his sword. To those surrounding them, and Maric himself, the move was not nearly as dangerous as it looked. Simply some smoke and mirrors tactics mostly seen in tournament play. Maric easily blocked the onslaught with his shield, brushing both Meghren's shield and sword up and away, exposing his now unprotected belly and thrusting his longsword into Meghren's comfort zone.

For his part, Meghren seemed taken aback first by how easily his attack had been blocked, and second by the ease with which Maric was able to expose a weakness.

The battle continued on, the soldiers and nobles standing witness to the exchange. Eleanor leaned into Bryce's embrace, trying to calm herself, though she was worried for Maric. At one point, she snuck a glance over at Rowan who winced as Meghren landed one of his few decently made blows on Maric's shoulder. Turning back, Eleanor saw that Moira's son continued to fight on. It was clear he was the stronger, better trained, battle hardened warrior to Meghren's soft, spoiled and hesitant tournament-style technique.

Eleanor began to wonder how long the battle was going to last when she saw Meghren, greatly tired from his exertions, not only miss his strike against Maric but lost his balance and began falling forward. Maric avoided the blow and spun to his right, swinging around with his shield to knock the Usurper completely off balance and to the ground. When Meghren rose to his feet, he was unprepared for the continued attack and never saw nor felt the blow as Maric's sword, its blue glint from the runestones embedded in it arced and sliced through the Usurper's neck, severing the head of the snake once and for all.

For a long, long moment, nothing could be heard but the ragged sounds of Maric's heavy breaths as he struggled to regain his composure. Then, as Rowan stepped out onto the battle ring and walked over towards her husband, lending him her arm and support, the cheering began. The cacophony of voices roaring in approval, in achievement, in _victory_ began to spread out in waves, as if a pebble had been dropped in the center of Lake Calenhad and the ripples fanned out to the shore.

Eleanor glanced up at Bryce, feeling … overwhelmed. "It's … over?" she asked.

Bryce hugged her close. "No, my love," he murmured near her ear so she could hear him, "it's just beginning."


	26. Blessings

_ We are nearing the end of Bryce and Eleanor's journey and I wanted to take a moment to thank you all for coming along for the ride. This has easily turned into one of my favorite stories, one that I intend to keep building on both with Marianne's adventures as the White Fox and with my female Cousland character. In that regard, be watchful, because I have several variations of my female Cousland who will fall back on this story. Arhiannon Cousland will be my first, and she shall make an appearance most likely after Marianne's story has been told. I have at least two other female Cousland stories of my own, and several others who have requested to reference this as well. If you are interested, please check out Erynnar's stories about Kaidana Cousland and MireliAmbar's stories about Lydia Cousland (and, I will openly admit, Mireli has inspired me to write my own Teagan fiction, but that will be a while yet!). Thank you all again for your interest, support, reviews and comments!_

_ Thanks to my betas: Erynnar and VioletTheirin. Their never ending comments, suggestions and support has helped me through my stories and incidents like the lost flashdrive I mentioned the other day (update: it appears the data recovery company was able to retrieve my files! Now – patience …!). You ladies are very dear friends and I would not be able to do this without you!_

_ As always, Bioware owns it all … I'm just messing around with it to suit my needs!_

_

* * *

_

Their return to Highever from Denerim was slow out of necessity. Bryce had even managed to find a cart, and both he and Nan had harangued Eleanor once again until she reluctantly agreed to ride in the thing, much against her better judgment. Despite being almost full term with her pregnancy, she still wanted to walk, to be ready in case of attack. _Old habits die hard_, she told herself when they were well into the fourth day of their trip.

They had witnessed the fall of the Usurper, and the rise of the rightful king. They had remained in Denerim after Meghren's defeat, until Maric had been crowned king and Rowan his queen. Bryce had discussed with Maric, at the king's request, the appropriate reward for his friend, Loghain, until agreeing that giving Eleanor's cousin the Teyrnir of Gwaren was suitable and appropriate. Both Eleanor and Bryce visited with Cyril, explaining the circumstances of the departure of his Amélie.

Then, after much celebrating, Bryce had begged his leave. He promised to return, for the Landsmeet, for friendship, for whenever duty called, but he wanted to be at his home when his child was born. He did not want to take any chances with this child, not after what had happened to little Iain. So it was with great reluctance that the king granted the Teyrn of Highever his permission to leave for home.

It took almost a week to get there, but the Imperial Highway was still functional and they made better time than Bryce had expected they would. He was at the head of the column as they traveled, determined to protect his wife at any and all costs should they be attacked. Nan traveled on Griffon, the beautiful grey, constantly at Eleanor's side. The two friends had become nigh inseparable since Nan's return, and Bryce was wise enough to accept the arrangement unquestioningly.

They arrived at the castle late one afternoon, Seneschal Dacen alerted by a messenger who had been sent ahead, with the staff and troops waiting for them in the courtyard. Bryce chuckled to himself as he realized Dacen was trying to make up for the lack of pomp and circumstance when he and Eleanor had simply walked in after their return from Ostagar. Sighing heavily, for he was tired and knew Eleanor must be exhausted, he helped his wife from the cart and escorted her through the review.

At one point, he realized he must have made some kind of impatient sound, because Eleanor gave him a look of tolerant amusement. Smiling sheepishly back at her, he gave her a grin and continued on. It was a short time later, and after a glimpse of Nan speaking fiercely with Dacen, that the impromptu review was ended and Eleanor escorted off to a location where she could relax.

* * *

They managed to get back into the routine of the castle within the week, and Eleanor, despite the mutterings of her friend, was quick to establish her rule of the household once more. She found it amusing that Bryce would find reasons, real or fabricated, to be with her almost constantly. Between his attentions and those of Nan, Eleanor began to feel like a prized bone being fought over by a pack of mabari hounds.

They were in the main hall, Eleanor supervising the changing of the portraits of the Teyrn and Teyrna from those of Malcolm and Theresia Cousland to Bryce and herself, when she finally decided it had to come to an end.

Bryce for his part, did not really care about the portraits being changed. It made a statement, he supposed, for any visitors who should arrive, so he agreed to the change without argument. When it came to the actual direction of the servants, however, he nearly drove his lady wife mad. Then Nan stepped in, and for the first of what she assumed would be many, many times, Eleanor witnessed Nan and her husband going head to head in an argument. She indulged herself in a moment's amusement, before deciding that it was time she establish her position in the relationship. "Enough!" she bellowed from her place in the center of the hall.

Both Bryce and Nan were startled enough to cease their argumentative ways, at least momentarily, at the sound of Eleanor's voice. Turning to stare at her, they were unprepared for what came next.

"I am no wallflower, nor an invalid. I am perfectly capable whether pregnant or no of taking care of whatever business needs to be taken care of!"

Bryce held in his amused chuckle and watched as Nan muttered to herself and then walked over to her friend, murmuring something he couldn't hear. Eleanor was a bit flushed by her anger, her outburst, but seemed otherwise fine. She looked over at him as Nan continued to try and placate her, and he saw the spark in her eye. Smiling, he thought that if his child had half the spunk as his wife, he was going to be in trouble indeed!

* * *

Bryce entered their room quietly, at least he hoped it was quietly, and readied himself for bed in the dark. He slid beneath the covers next to his wife who, he had noted earlier that evening, had been barely able to eat so tired was she. He reached out to touch her as he moved up next to her, and was surprised to feel her hand slide on top of his. "Ellie?" he whispered. "Is everything all right?"

Eleanor squeezed his hand tightly, reassuringly. "I'm just glad you are here," she murmured tiredly.

"Where else would I be?" he asked. He tightened his hold on her, holding her against him and thanking the Maker yet again for allowing things to work out between them. There had been a time, shortly after Iain's death, when he had thought she was lost from his life for good.

As he held her, he lightly ran his hand over her belly, feeling his child. He could not remember how this compared to the same point in her pregnancy with Iain for, unlike last time, Bryce had made sure she was receiving the food and attention she needed. Was this child larger? Was it smaller? Was it healthy?

He must have made some noise or movement, because Eleanor struggled over onto her back so she could look up at him, her eyes opening and her green gaze shining out through the darkness. She reached a hand up, pulling his head towards hers and kissed him soundly. "We will be fine, Bryce," she assured him. "Your son –"

"Son?"

Eleanor chuckled. "It feels like last time, so I think of it as a boy," she admitted a bit shyly. "If it is a girl, well, we will both be surprised!"

Bryce grinned. "If it is a girl, I'm sure she will be blessed with her mother's temper and daring!"

Eleanor smiled. "That remains to be seen. The point I was making, however, is that the baby is fine. I am fine. We all need to rest, however, because we both know that with each passing day the little one's arrival draws closer and we most certainly won't get rest then."

Sighing, Bryce lay down beside her, still facing her, still holding her. Their eyes locked and he watched as she faded off to sleep once more. Only then did he follow.

* * *

Bryce sat beside his wife's reclined body, murmuring things that he sincerely hoped helped her to feel better. Unlike the last time, she was surrounded by women who knew what they were doing. But she still insisted he be there with her. When she squeezed his hand again, his _sword hand_, and nearly broke bones, Bryce winced. _Perhaps I would have been better off waiting elsewhere …?_ If the message he had received just an hour before was right, Maric had arrived at the keep and he could beg off to see to his sovereign's needs ….

Eleanor glanced at her husband's face and accurately read the expression found there. "If you so much as _consider_ leaving me right now," she panted, "after putting me in this position … again …." She struggled through another contraction and gasped for air before continuing on. "Bryce? Your son … and I are going to … have _words_ after … all this is over!"

Bryce swallowed his laughter, and squeezed her hand. "Come on, Eleanor," he told her simply, "surely if you can defeat Orlesians in battle, you can birth a child no problem!" He was rewarded with a loud, hard smack on his right arm from Nan who was assisting the healing mage with the delivery. Even Nan was aiming for his sword arm it seemed.

Eleanor laughed through her tears at both the gesture from Nan fiercely standing up for her when she couldn't, and the look on Bryce's face. This time when she felt the urge to push, she managed to do so with a smile on her face.

* * *

Sometime later, after assurances that Eleanor was all right, that she simply needed rest, Bryce left the room in search of his guest. It was now time to celebrate. To his surprise, however, when he entered the study where Dacen had directed the king, he found not just Maric, but Loghain and Rendon Howe as well. The message he'd received had only mentioned the king's presence.

"Well, Bryce," Maric began, rising to his feet, "I trust Eleanor has succeeded? All is well with mother and child?"

Bryce blushed slightly, a bit bemused that the man continued to count him among his close friends even after the defeat of the Orlesians. "Yes, your Majesty." He entered the room a bit more, and they all became aware of the bundle in the man's arms. With a proud smile, Bryce announced, "May I present Fergus Malcolm Cousland of Highever."

Loud exclamations of delight by the men aimed at the child woke him, causing him to start fussing. Immediately the door opened, and Nan entered, extricating the infant from his father's grip. She left the room immediately, without a word, closing the door behind her. Bryce's gaze trailed after her for a long moment, following his son. Then, shaking his head in disbelief, he turned back towards the others. He approached his desk, retrieved a corked bottle of Antivan brandy from a lower drawer, and four glasses that were there as well. Pouring them each a half of a glass, he returned the bottle to its location.

Maric raised his glass. "To Fergus Malcolm Cousland: may he and his generations find peace in a free Ferelden."

The others raised their glasses and echoed, "Fergus Cousland and peace!"

* * *

Later that evening, and only slightly drunk from the alcohol, but definitely exhausted from lack of sleep, Bryce found his way into his bedroom. He was half afraid that he was going to be chased out by Nan when he arrived, but he entered to find his wife resting alone. A small cradle had been placed by her side of the bed and Bryce found himself drawn there. When he glanced down, he found tiny eyes staring back up at him, cooing softly as he moved about.

Without a second thought, Bryce reached down and lifted the tyke into the cradle of his arms. He walked over near a window and stared out at the snow storm that was roaring past the castle. "There's a whole new world out there for you, my son," he murmured softly to his son. "You have the distinction of being born of the first generation into a newly freed Ferelden … something no one has seen for a very, very long time, certainly since your great grandfather's time, for whom you are named."

Eleanor, woken when Bryce had lifted Fergus from his cradle, smiled at the sight of father and son. This was indeed where she belonged, with Bryce and Fergus and any future children they would have. Moving carefully, she rose to her feet and padded over to where her two men stood by the window. She saw concern immediately in Bryce's eyes, but she shook her head. Sliding an arm around his waist, she leaned against his arm and stared down at their son. _We are home,_ she thought.

* * *

_There is still one chapter to go ..._


	27. Epilogue

Elissa stood beside her mother in the study belonging to her father, Teyrn Bryce Cousland. In front of them, mounted for display, lay a set of blades that were all too familiar to the young woman. From birth, she had heard the story often enough: Marianne Desmarais had been Orlesian by birth and Ferelden by choice. She had made her decision to assist King Maric in his claim to t he throne for a number of reasons, not the least of which was that the Orlesian puppet, Meghren, had been a brutal tyrant.

"She wanted my daughter to have her blades when she was old enough," Eleanor explained.

"But," Elissa pointed out, "I am no rogue. I am trained as a shield warrior."

Eleanor smiled, wrapping an arm around the girl's shoulders affectionately. "That might be," she admitted. "And granted Marianne was one. However, don't think I haven't seen you sparring with your brother, or Rory Gilmore, attempting to master the dual weapons techniques I showed you so long ago."

Elissa blushed slightly. "I learned from the best, Mother," she murmured defensively.

Eleanor's giggle was contagious and both women were soon laughing whole heartedly. "That you did, my darling girl that you did." Turning to face her daughter, Eleanor felt the twinge of déjà-vu that she often felt when viewing Elissa: the girl was almost a spitting image of Eleanor from the ebony curls to the emerald eyes. Her facial features were a bit more like Bryce she thought. Yet when in a crowd of people, they had often been mistaken for sisters.

Eleanor smiled now. Placing a hand at Elissa's cheek, she told her, "Marianne would be please to know that you are the one to inherit the blades, my dear. I am sure she would be more than satisfied knowing that such a skilled young warrior will have them to use only when absolutely necessary." Lowering her hand, Eleanor reached for the blades and removed them from their mount. Handing them one at a time to her daughter, she watched as Elissa donned _Tempered Faith_ and _Shadow's Bite_ for the first time.

"There," she said, content with the results. Then, turning the conversation, she continued, "Now, I have guests to attend, and your father wants to see you. I believe you will find him in the great hall with the Arl of Amaranthine."

Elissa would have missed it if she had not been eyeing her mother closely: the dark look at the mention of Rendon Howe. "Mother?"

Eleanor shook her head. "Don't mind me, dear. Go find your father. I believe he has something important to tell you."

With one last, concerned look, Elissa turned to leave the room. Standing at the gateway, she glanced back at her mother and murmured, "Thank you, Mother. I will do them justice, I swear that to you!"

Eleanor smiled after her daughter's departing figure. "I know you will, my girl." Sighing, she straightened and departed the room. "Now then," she muttered softly, "to find Landra and that son of hers…."

* * *

_**A/N:**__ When I started this story, I wasn't sure which of my Cousland characters it was going to go with, so I used the general Elissa as the female character. Along the way, others have asked to reference Bryce and Eleanor's story for their Cousland characters, and of course I agreed. Suffice it to say that I see this being the background for any of the Cousland Warden characters, male or female, with changes as necessary._

_ I hope you have enjoyed my little venture into the background of two of the more fascinating characters to me in the game. I thought it would be a fairly short story, maybe ten chapters at most, yet it surprised me – as they always do! Thank you to my readers, reviewers and everyone who favorited and set alerts! Your interest, your comments, you fascination along with mine inspired the story to become what it is now._

_ That said, as I have mentioned recently, Marianne will have her own spin-off story. __**Les Aventures du Renard Blanc**__ will be along soon, exploring some of her adventures between when she left Denerim to when she joined up with Maric. I may even go into some of the time she was with Maric, Loghain and Rowan. Please feel free to come along for the ride!_

_ Also in the future is a much longer epic, my female character, Arhiannon Cousland (yes, the one from __**Walking Wounded**__) will be getting her story told as well. I have not decided upon a title yet, but by the end of Marianne's story I should have a much better idea of what it will be._

_I must also note that I have, in the past few days, been inspired in another Cousland story, one involving Lysette Cousland and Teagan Guerrin. This one has taken me over very forcefully (so much so one might think Zevran was involved!) that it may have to be published first! Please keep an eye out for **'Til You Come Back To Me Again**._

_ Thanks so much for your interest! I hope to see you along some of my other journeys!_


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